Friday, July 22, 2011

In which I am old, and very old, and young again.



Mark recently purchased a handy machine on eBay that transfers VHS tapes to our computer. All I understand about the process is that it involves odd cord configurations and screens I don't recognize and then sometimes I hear our high school marching band music and I'm instantly transported back to 1995. (Figuratively, of course. The machine isn't that fancy. Although I would like to have a discussion with my teenage self about eyebrow waxing. Would the universe implode if my future self and past self came face to face, or is that just something Michael J. Fox and Christopher Lloyd brainwashed us to believe?)

I digress. A lot.

Anyway, this is a project we've been wanting to accomplish for a long time, and there are currently piles of VHS tapes stacked around me as I type. I'm delighted by the prospect of finding a way to possibly dub alternate music into our wedding video (if that's not possible, don't crush my dreams yet). Mark is delighted by the opportunity that this glimpse into the past gives him to say things that freak me out.

"Do you realize that this video from our freshman year is eighteen years old?"
(Angry look from me.)

"Huh. That means that today's high school students weren't even born when this footage was shot. Interesting."
(Seriously-shut-up-now look from me.)

"Want to hear something else? In another eighteen years, we'll be fifty."
(I leave the room to go cry and make a shopping list that includes wrinkle cream and hair color.)

This morning at swim lessons (LAST DAY!), I was talking to another mom about the way I remember the pool from my childhood. Back then we had a standard-height diving board, and then the famous high dive. Few of my friends had been brave enough to scale the steps and make the jump. I made it up to the board once, only to turn right back around and head back down, making all of the older, cooler kids on the stairs sigh in exasperation as they moved out of my way. Good times.

As I spoke of these memories, one of the lifeguards walked by, overheard, and stopped in his tracks.

"Wait...are you talking about the high dive? I've heard it used to exist, but I've never talked to someone who actually remembers it! Tell me more! How high was it?"

Um, yes. It truly was this boy's lucky day to make contact with someone ancient enough to remember those fabled days of yore. Didn't make me feel like an octogenarian at all.

So, these experiences involving my darling, witty husband and my now-least-favorite pool boy could have sent me spinning into a defeated search for sensible, supportive footwear had it not been for the ray of light that was my grocery check-out experience this afternoon. I had noticed the cashier glancing at me a few times while I was talking to Noah, when she suddenly interrupted with these magic words...

"Is he yours? Wow, I would have never thought you looked old enough to have a child his age."

Ahhhh, much better. See, honey? Take that, impossibly tan lifeguard! This lady was surprised to discover that I was old enough to have a three-year-old! And although I realize that she's likely either a teensy big insane or quite a bit visually impaired, and also is someone trying to retain my business and make me a happy customer, I'm choosing to ignore all of that and decide instead that I LOVE HER and also that maybe I can hold off on studying these brochures on osteoporosis for the time being.

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