Cues for Aging

"You know you might like to check out some acts from this century," laughed the spouse of a colleague when he heard that we had tickets for James Taylor's summer tour. I laughed too, because he was not wrong.

And, to be honest, there was a lot of white hair in the audience last night when we settled into our seats to wait for the show to begin. "He'll be on around 8," the usher had informed us. "He's taking a little nap right now," she finished, conspiratorially.

As we waited, I took the opportunity to people-watch, in particular, checking out my fellow concert-goers' outfit choices. I had gone with jeans, a black T-shirt, and flip-flops, a look I hoped was classic enough to be cool. There were a lot of faded concert shirts from other years or other bands. Many guys wore cargo shorts with polos and baseball caps, and lots of women had on capris and sleeveless tops. 

Almost everyone looked, well, old. I did see a couple who broke the mold a bit-- her brilliant white hair was in a flawless, long bob; she had funky glasses, wide-legged pants, and some cool sandals. He had wavy hair brushed back in almost a retro, 70s style, nice shorts, a stylish short-sleeved button-up shirt, and leather flip-flops. 

My fashionista observations were put on hold when the house lights dimmed, and the band took the stage. A montage of video clips from 1968 to recently of James Taylor singing "Something in the Way She Moves" played on the jumbotron. Then the lights came up, and there was the man himself, picking up the song live. His 76-year-old voice was not as robust as it once was, but his face was still youthful, and we could see his blue eyes twinkling from the 12th row.

But it was inescapable: JT, that long-haired hippie guy from my high school years, was dressed like somebody's grampa going out to lunch—he wore a golf shirt buttoned all the way up, baggy gray trousers, sport coat, and snap-brimmed hat. 

Maybe? I thought, Maybe that look could be his thing. Like me and my half-moon readers, or anyone who embraces early gray hair, perhaps he defies old age by taking those traditional emblems of it and making them, well, cool.

International Dining

One of the cool things about Buffalo is how close it is to Canada. So near, in fact, that Heidi's family's favorite Chinese place is in Fort Erie, just over the Peace Bridge, and their go-to beach, Shirkston, was on the Canadian shore of Lake Erie. It used to be nothing to cross the border back and forth; people regularly lived in one country and worked in the other.  All that easy access changed, first after the attacks on September 11, 2001, and then again during the COVID shutdowns and these days, traveling between the U.S. and Canada can be much more complicated than before. 

But not always. Last night, the four of us drove to Niagara Falls, Canada, to have dinner at Swiss Chalet. This Canadian chain is known for its rotisserie chicken and proprietary sauce (not sure where the Swiss connection comes in). There used to be a few outlets here in the States, but more than a decade ago, they packed up their roasting spits and moved back home. 

Some of Heidi's family has been mourning the loss ever since, and they are more than willing to make the trip to enjoy a favorite meal. And that's how we found ourselves rolling through Canada last evening. The light was golden as we crossed the Niagara River, and immigration and customs were quick and polite. Before long, we were driving to a Canadian strip mall, so like those in our nation, and yet so different. There was no question we were in another country, and that was cool.

The chicken? Was dry, and the sauce, heavy on the allspice, was not to my taste at all.  But the Molson on tap was cold, and I would go again any time, both for the good of the group and the excitement of being somewhere else.

Have You Met Me?

At last, the heat has broken, and today dawned clear, cool, and sunny—all the things we have come to love about Buffalo summers. As I sit beneath the awning on the patio, a refreshing breeze passes through the trees, and the smell of fresh-cut grass wafts over the fence from next door. We took the dogs for a pleasant three-mile walk this morning, and I know I should relax, release my restlessness, and enjoy the downtime.

Yeah, that isn't happening.

Hot and Bothered

At 78 and recently widowed, Heid's mom seems very set in her ways, and when we visit, adjusting our schedule to match hers can be a challenge. The last time we were in Buffalo, my screen time doubled and it felt like I spent a lot of time sitting around waiting for the group. 

The heat wave that has blanketed the eastern half of the U.S. this week has only complicated that issue. Even this far north, it's been too hot to walk the dogs, play pickleball, visit Niagara Falls, or even sit outside and read. And today? It's raining.

There is always retail therapy, of course, but spending money as entertainment has become less appealing to me over the years. So what's a gal to do? 

Well, how about axe-throwing and mini-bowling? 

Never mind. That fell through.

Blazing

"I've got some audiobook ideas for our road trip," I told Heidi yesterday. "Let me read you the descriptions, and then you can pick." I skimmed through the title details and started to laugh.

"Do you want to hear a blazing novel of startling originality about the fragility and resilience of life in our universe?" I asked. 

"Or a blazing, unforgettable testament to what we owe each other in a changing world?" 

"Or maybe, as blazing and distinctive a performance as I've beheld in a long while... I'm amazed."

"Wow," she answered. "It's so hard to pick!"

Solstice

Last December, the shortest day of the year found us on the road to Buffalo. On that trip, the light turned blue around 4 pm, the sky blazed purple and orange a little while later, and holiday lights twinkled in the darkness the rest of the way. As we unpacked the car, a full strawberry moon rose in the east.

Today, the longest day of the year, found us back on the same road. This time, an early summer heat wave shimmered off the pavement, and the temperatures only dropped to 90 in the mountains, even after a quick thunderstorm. The sun shone golden and hot all the way, and it was still light long after we arrived at 7:30.

Gathering darkness, growing light-- there is so much to love in this world.

School's Out Forever

It was around 1:30 this afternoon when I flicked the three light switches down and closed the door on Room 275, which was, for the first time in 30 years, empty of my personal possessions. 

Of all the keys on the ring that I was about to turn in, my desk key gave me the most pause. That tiny piece of brass had been mine since August 1993, and when I cleaned out the drawers, I removed a few things that had been in there almost as long.

Empty room, empty desk... it really was time for me to go.