my generation

Jeff and I spent six and a half hours in the car yesterday. We checked out Aurora, Unionville, Markham and Scarborough, cruising through streets and looking at the houses, getting a sense of different neighbourhoods. Many thanks to Bryan and Elizabeth for showing us around Aurora, and Luisa for showing us around the Guildwood area. In the evening, we had dinner with Reid, Luisa, Ronnie, Scott and Rita at Reid's and Luisa's place; Luisa barbecued salmon, chicken, vegetables...yum.

Bryan and Elizabeth treated us to lunch at Chinook, a great restaurant in Aurora owned by parents of one of Bryan's friends, Blake. 21-year-old Blake came by our table to chat, and Jeff and I asked him how he liked living in Aurora. He said that he spent most of his time in Toronto, that Aurora was a little too quiet for him.

"It's probably better for someone of your generation," he told us.

I almost fell out of my chair with shock. What the heck did he mean, someone of my generation? Did I really look that decrepit to him? Sure, he was young enough to be my son, but it was the first time anyone had ever clumped me in the whole "older generation" category to my face.

But then I forced myself to remember what it was like to be in my twenties, and the associations I automatically made with someone who was in their forties, how ancient that seemed. Now I'm forty, and most of the time I don't feel old at all. Funny how much one's perspective changes over the years.

I also find that I'm not as aware of people's ages in terms of friendships. When I was in high school, a year or two seemed to make a huge difference in how I perceived people. Now, I find that age isn't nearly as important as the person's life attitude. Some of my closest friends are a fair bit older or younger than I am.

I still have trouble of thinking of myself as being middle-aged. I mean geez, the phrase "middle-aged woman in her 40s" has always evoked a less-than-flattering image (as well as having a certain redundancy in its wording, of course).

I started to think a lot more about the whole aging thing once I turned thirty. I suspect I'll always feel a bit of a twinge whenever I have to change the first digit of my age. I remember when I first realized I was starting to get wrinkles around the outside of my eyes, sometimes in my thirties. I was devastated. Whenever I looked in the mirror for a while after that, all I could see were wrinkles. But then after a while I got used to seeing them in the mirror, gradually accepted them as being part of the image I had of myself.

There's a commercial that used to air on television around here about women and aging. I can't recall what product it was selling, but it basically showed a series of close-ups of late 30ish and older women's faces, with each of them saying things indicating how she really didn't mind getting older at all. One of them even said, "I want to grow old."

Gimme a break. No one WANTS to grow old (except, perhaps, the pre-teen desperate to be an adult). I certainly don't. Or rather, I'm enjoying life so much that I'd like to live as long as possible. But I also strongly believe that growing older doesn't mean you have to give up your passion for life, and that you don't have to submit to society's preconceptions of what someone your age should be like.

But enough ranting on that subject for now.

I'll get off my soapbox now, but first I need to find that darned cane of mine...

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Today's Blatherpics:

	With Bryan, Jeff and Elizabeth at Chinook in Aurora.
	Luisa and Jeff in Scarborough.