First of The Year

me, my mom and sibs before we were orphans

Frankly last year was much less a trial than 2014. Not that I’m complaining. Overall healthy and happy and–after upping my craft beer consumption in Traverse City–fat.

Folks would likely say that it was good to take it easy after that roller coaster, but I think that I was a bit too easy. Does lazy rhyme with easy? I think so. While I don’t want to be that person who jumps over social media, I did realize that I was spending too much of my down time with where child stars are now, seventeen celebrity plastic surgery botches (number 9 will surprise you!), and way too much time on the escapades of a rich man who wants to be king. So I started with a Trump-diet and now am more mindful on taking the click bait.

I started thinking about all the posts that I start in my head and don’t write and therefore never publish. Seems to be less lazy to create than simply consume. So I’m publicly challenging myself to post every day for the next year.

Yes, Loyal Reader. Every. Stinking. Day. For. The. Entire. Year.

So today I am posting a musing on becoming the old people. Because I became that last January when my mom died. There are a few flung of my Aunts/Uncles left, there’s really only two that I know. And none that my kids know.

So now that the Spouse and I are orphans, we have become the old people. The elders. Maybe a little earlier than we should have, but that’s who we are. There is a turnover at the old people’s table, and I found myself there.

And, I wonder if the elders before me had a mental image of themselves of being 28–or some such age. I don’t see myself as one of those old hippie baby-boomers, but I think others just might. It’s my personal cognitive dissonance. Am I inside out? Or outside in?

Until tomorrow, Loyal Reader.

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