On Many Subjects

I was thinking about my age this morning, after discussing the horrors of Hot Flashes with a co-worker. According to V, one of her friends stayed over night with her in a kind of slumber party and the other women, who is younger than V, was bundled in a heavy robe, slippers, and a blanket while sweetly announcing, "It is a little bit chilly in your apartment."

Like me, V often goes to bed with long pajamas on, socks on her feet and totally armed against the cold nights with a blanket and a quilt. Some time around the magic hour of 2am, we are forced out of our blissful sleep by a hot flash. That means, the blankets are flung off the bed, the pajama bottoms and socks end up on the floor and the ceiling fan goes on high-speed. Only to be chilled to the point of pnuemonia a few minutes later. Sleep has become a real rollercoaster ride and something I have begun to have fantasies about.

Not only that, there are other distinct indicators that I, and my co-worker, are getting older. Are you ready for this?

Did you know there was a time when Banana Republic only sold safari-look clothes?

Did you know I actually used to believe that Charles Nelson Reilly and Paul Lynde were skirt-chasing bachelors?

How about this? The first time I saw Jumping Jack Flash and watched New-York-City-living Whoopie Goldberg instant message with a spy in Cold-War-Eastern-Europe, I thought it was a form of black magic that only the most hard-core computer geeks could accomplish.

And, my TV used to be made out of stone and it was powered by a stegosaurus... as was my dishwasher.

Small wonder I am now old enough to suffer-from hot flashes even though I am on the tail-end of the baby-boomer generation.