Vintage

 I once, years ago, stood next to a gentleman as we watched a lovely young luncheon companion walk away.  He said, almost to himself, "She's like fine silk."  He then turned smiling to me and said, "You're like a terrycloth bathrobe."  At the time, I wasn't sure if I should be offended, but now I take it as a compliment.  If I had the choice, I'd wear old terrycloth over silk any day.

"Comfortable as an old shoe" is a saying I've heard for years, but there comes a time when old shoes need to be retired.  I think I've gotten as much comfort from my current barn shoes as is possible.  Much as I'd like to put it off, a trip to town is in my future today.

Some years back, Waylon Jennings and some other good ol' boys formed a group called Old Dogs to sing songs about aging.  My own "old dog" is never far from my feet these days.  I've become the seeing-eye dog for my dog.  Bessie Anne is neither completely deaf nor blind, but those senses are fading rapidly.  Her need to be constantly in my lap is sometimes overwhelming and I do, on occasion, refuse her request.  She has a bed and blanket right beside me and she has her own chair, but the look of reproach in those clouded eyes soon has me relenting and I'm weighed down and immobile again.

The oak trees at Farview Farm are old trees.  I was told the tree down in the goat pen that split some years back might be over 500 years old.  Picking up the finicky twiggy stuff from under this front yard oak yesterday, I ran across another of the little toys left from the boys who lived here first.  I've been here nearly 18 years now, and still these toys, little trucks, little figures, perk to the surface.  Those boys must be grown men now, with families of their own.

A collage of photos was posted on FB this morning titled, "Vintage Pictures From the 1950s."  I could have been in any one of those photos.  The clothes, the hair styles, the cars, the locales were all part of my growing up.  That's it!  I'm not old, I'm vintage!