California Dreamin

It is common to hear people talk about hospitality as though it is a trait only held by those who reside in the southeast region of the United States. On a recent visit to southern California I discovered that we, southerners, have nothing on those folks. What a trip. Landing at noon PST, the sun glistens. The temperature is a warm, comfortable, 76 degrees farenheight. No jackets or coats to wear. No rain gear needed. No mud, leaves, snow, slush or cutting frigid winds. No, only beautiful sunshine, blooming beauganvilla, clean air, ocean breezes, palm trees and nice happy people. Perhaps a change in venue would make me nicer?

What is a middle aged crisis? Is it only defined as a middle aged person trying to reclaim their youth by having an affair or buying a sportscar that they couldn't afford when they were younger? Is it plastic surgery or weight loss, dying your hair a youthful color or trying to dress like a twenty year old? Is it fulfilling a wild adventure you've always dreamed of like bungie jumping or trying to climb Mt. Kilamanjaro? I'm not sure what it is, but I suddenly feel middle aged, maybe even old. I've honestly felt older since my mother died ten years ago. Being the next generation to die is a stunning notion. My son is in college. My daughter is a senior in high school. All three of my children hold a legal, valid drivers license. There are no more field trips or cupcakes to send to school. I'm dying my hair. I always turned my nose up at people that dye their hair. Gray hair is something earned, not something to hide. At least that was the case when my best friend became more and more gray. Her hair was cool. It had a magnificent gray stripe in the front. But now, on me, it hurts my feelings. It washes out my face and enhances those years of being the most tan kid in school.

Marching to the beat of my own drum, I want to do my middle aged crisis differently. I want to go back to southern California and hang out with retirees. I love moving at a slower pace. I'm ready to garden, volunteer somewhere where you are appreciated, get a discount at all the restaurants, and go to bed early. I love to eat the early bird special. I want to sit outdoors in mild temperatures and gleaming sunshine and ponder my existance. I want to tell my friends about my days past. Maybe I'm just an old soul. Maybe, my afternoon glass of wine has made me silly. I just don't know.

Perhaps the responsibilities of my life have made me weary. I am lucky. I have more than most and have the priviledge of this little getaway. But, greed makes me want more. More quiet days with just my man. More delicious meals made with the freshest ingredients. Coffee cozies hand knitted by a local. Tomatoes harvested in December. Train rides into the city. Walking instead of driving. I'd like to step back in time a bit.

Hot flashes are a drag. They symbolize the death of my reproductive self. The death of a part of me. The death of my youth. I am now in the group that jokes are made about. Jokes like, she should be on the cover of menopause monthly. It's a weird place to be. While the vein side of me is sad about the changes that age bring to my physical self, I don't want to go back to the insecure, stupidity of my youth. I like not knowing everything and being quite ok about it. I like doing the old lady thing. So, with the pro con list intact, getting older is not so bad. I'm just at the preretirement window looking in, nose pressed against the glass wishing for something that when I have it I will regret the loss of what I had to give up to get here.

So, I'll just have those delicious memories of a wonderful weekend, away from it all. Thank you to best friend's family. Thank you to southern california hospitality and charm. Thank you God for beautiful weather, the ocean, the opportunity, my man and my family that periodically makes me want to run away. I expect it wouldn't all be so sweet without you.