Wednesday, January 25, 2012


Lately, I've been having to explain myself a lot. But in a totally unexpected way. This week alone I've made the following conflicting statements on more than one occasion:
"No, seriously, I'm not as young as you think I am."
"Goodness, how old do you think I am!?"
Turns out 35 isn't just middle aged, it's the middle of nowhere. The age when you don't quite fit in and no one takes you seriously. 

Just the other day we stopped by our friends' house to congratulate them on their 25th wedding anniversary. Their son Max answered the door. Being half way between his age and his parents', he didn't quite know what to do with us. "My folks aren't here," he said, "but you guys can come in, I guess."

I remember when my mom was 35. It actually doesn't seem that long ago. But, now that I'm that old, does that mean she's really old? And if so, what does that make my grammy? Old enough, I guess, to be faced with a pretty tough decision.

Las dos Marias.
This week, she too has had to explain herself in what I'm sure, to her, is a totally unexpected way. After years of living quietly and happily in her own home, abuela told my mom and my tia that she no longer feels comfortable living alone. So she's moving to a new place, one we affectionately call "casita" where she'll be safe, happy, and well taken care of. I can't really imagine how my mom must feel, but I know I'm wishing there wasn't a 12 hour plane ride keeping me from being there to welcome my grammy home.

I guess we're never quite where we thought we would be, no matter how old we are.

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