These posts would have been posted on time, but I was sans internet for a few days whilst away at my grandparents’ place in Arcadia.
8 March 2010
There are two types of people in Florida – the young and the old. There doesn’t seem to be too much of an in between, really.
Walking through the consignment store, I was surrounded by older women. Perusing the racks at Beall’s, I was drowning in scents of old lady fragrance. Where were the people my age?
Actually, it’s currently Spring Break 2010 for lots of schools at home – UNC, Wake Forest, Duke. On the way down, I ran into some girls from UNC in the bathroom of a gas station on their way to Cocoa Beach.
Maybe that was the problem I was facing – I wasn’t going to Cocoa Beach or Daytona Beach or anywhere like that. I was going to Lake Buena Vista, Arcadia, and St. Augustine – not exactly popular college spring break hot spots I suppose.
I like going to these places. Visiting my grandparents in Arcadia gives me a kind of perspective I like to think. Not only do I enjoy seeing them since I don’t see them often, but it also really makes me start to contemplate my life. I am at the ripe age of twenty, apparently “starting my prime” as my mom and aunt like to tell me. Being able to look at people generations ahead of me helps me answer questions I have about getting older.
Some of these older people are so happy – you can just tell they’ve lived a full and loving life. It’s as though they have a perpetual glow about them. It’s fantastic.
Other people though seem not as joyous. Sitting at a stoplight, I looked out my window to view an older woman sitting in the driver’s seat of her car looking absolutely cross with life. Granted, I do not know this woman’s situation by any means, but her facial expressions gave me the perception that she just was not pleased to at least be sitting at the light.
I want to be a happy older person. I want to live a fulfilling life that makes me glow.
9 March 2010
I went to art class today with my grandma, and it was SO MUCH FUN.
This is going to be a very similar theme to what I wrote yesterday, but being there with the ten other elderly women and men really made me realize that life goes by fast.
Every woman at the table I was sitting at had been married since she was each nineteen years old. I am twenty years old. I would have been screwed if times were the same today as they were back then.
They talked of how young I looked and how young I was, and I guess I don’t really think of it that much. Twenty – like my mom and aunt say, the beginning of my prime – really is young. There’s so much more life to live! Well, we hope.
Watercolor painting is so soothing, mindless. The water just takes the paint away to every crevice of the paper, filling the white canvas with hues of every color imaginable. It’s fantastic.
I’m really glad my grandma goes to art class. I think it’s good for her — helps take her mind off of things and whatnot. I want to keep up with the painting, too, for the same reasons, although I think the things her mind is kept from differ from what mine is kept from.
I really can’t imagine getting much older. I can see 21 on the horizon for November, and I can see a few more of the years past that, but beyond 30, I’m completely clueless. I guess that’s half of the fun, right? Part of the mystery of age? Perhaps. I suppose the only real constant is time and patience.
It’s like watercolor. You have to be patient to paint a whole piece. It takes time for the color to set in the watered parts of the picture. You just can’t rush it, just like you can’t rush life.