Gonna take a sentimental journey...

I need to have some good stories to tell for when I get old....and I hope to get old...really really old.

I love older people. I used to be scared of them when I was a kid. Scared as in, run away and hide scared. Being a hairdresser cured me of that. Now I like to look at them and try to imagine what they were like when they were younger.

The old fella who comes across like a cranky old fart...at some point in his life he kissed a girl for the first time, or had a dog that he really loved. That elderly lady in her mobility scooter might have been a dervish on the dance floor back in the day. Maybe she wore her skirts a little on the short side...who can say?!

What I think I enjoy best is when someone is reminiscing and they get that far away look in their eyes because they've taken themselves right back to that moment. I'm a sucker for that.

I know an older gentleman who used to race motorcycles for BSA back in England but had to make the choice to quit when he and his wife had children. He went on to be a mining tunnel cave-in inspector...not sure if that was any safer than the racing!
One lady I met told me about what it was like during WW2 in Victoria. From her perspective it was an exciting time, with men in uniform parading in front of the Empress. She said that for her and her sisters it was a lot of fun....imagine that....fun times during a war!

I've learned that there are some benefits to being older. One of my former clients, her name was Iris (I just loved her, she was a real spitfire!) told me that "Getting old sucks. The only good thing about it is that you can belch or fart and nobody cares because you're old, you can't help it!" Well....that's something to look forward to, I suppose.

I find that I'm already able to bore my young co-workers with some stories even at my tender age of 46. (or am I 47 now? I'll do the math later)
Like how I used to use a rotary phone as a teenager...and my best friend's number was an excruciating collection of 7's, 0's, a 9 and one short 4. It was painful to dial that when you had an overwhelming need to tell her something and Lord help you if your finger slipped and you had to start again. I will still have the occasional dream about dialing a rotary phone.

There's my story about how we had a party line and often had to tell the neighbor kid to "Hang up the damn phone, Tommy!!" and hearing that soft *click*.

...and for the record....I really did have to walk a mile (ok, maybe 1/4 mile) in knee-deep snow to catch the school bus which was always still frozen rock hard solid because we were the first stop on the bus route.

Maybe my stories lack the romance of the others I mentioned but that's ok...I'm sure time will embellish them a lot and they'll be worthy of a "Tell us about the olden days!" or two.