I was interrupted, again, by a remarkable sunset the other evening. It had bright golds, oranges, and reds, violets and purples, all against a darkening blue sky. I went upstairs and sat at a window, simply watching the colors as they built in their brilliance, eventually disappearing into the night; sitting there, a train of loose thoughts drifted by.
How is it we have the time to quietly sit and watch sunsets now, but were in too big a hurry while younger?
How come, when people ask what we’ve been doing, it sounds like nothing, even though we enjoyed ourselves?
How do we recognize special occasions if we don’t act like they’re special?
How come everyone is talking so loudly in restaurants if they’re all texting on their cell phones?
How can they call it a cost-of-living raise, if it doesn’t cover the cost of living?
How about the people saying kids today are so stupid, while they vote down the school budgets?
Why is it the older we get, the faster time goes? Remember being six years old, playing alone in the yard? Those summer days went on forever. Now, by the time we’re done getting out our summer clothes, it’s time to put them away and dig out the flannels, again.
Why aren’t older people treated like winners? If we were on Survivor, we’d be the last tribe on the island and win the million dollars.
If there are so many Boomers with so much money, why do the media and merchandising cater to younger people?
If everyone is going to wear baseball caps backwards, why do they still have bills to shade our eyes?
If speeding past other cars only gets you to the stop-light quicker, what’s your hurry?
If our income is fixed, why do we feel broke?
When did my phone’s ringing stop being for my convenience?
When we pause to let someone make a left-hand turn or get out of a parking spot it only takes a minute, but we feel good about it all day.
When did fashion go from the latest look to whatever is in our closet?
When did our health become the most interesting thing we have to talk about?
Where have all the suits, ties, and dress shirts men used to wear gone?
Where did all the heroes go?
Where along the way did sounding like our parents stop bothering us?
Have you noticed the same people complain we should fix up the roads and lower the taxes?
What do we do when the charge is $10.25 and we only have a ten or a twenty, but there’s a quarter in the penny box next to the register?
Scott Funk lives, works, and writes (and gardens) in Vermont. His Boomer Funk columns are available at VermontFunk.com, as are his blogs and archived Aging in Place columns.