On Being a Golden Oldie



          REMEMBER WHEN

          A computer was something on TV from a science fiction show;
          A window was something you hated to clean and ram was the cousin of a goat.
          Meg was the name of your girlfriend and gig was your middle finger upright.
          Now they all mean different things and that really mega bytes.
          An application was for employment; a program was a TV show;
          A cursor used profanity; a keyboard was a piano.
          Memory was something that you lost with age; a CD was a bank account;
          And if you had a 3½" floppy, you hoped nobody found out!
          Compress was something you did to the garbage, not something you did to a file.
          If you unzipped anything in public, you'd be in jail for a while.
          Log on was adding wood to the fire; hard drive was a long trip on the road;
          A mouse pad was where a mouse lived and a backup happened to your commode.
          Cut you did with a pocket knife; paste you did with glue.
          A web was a spider's home and a virus was the flu.
          I guess I'll stick to my pad and paper and the memory in my head --
          I hear people don’t get killed in a computer crash but when it happens,
          The victims go crazy and wish that they were dead!

          Author Unknown



          For all you Golden Oldies and for you youngins wanting to read
          about the wonderful 50s and hear some great music from that era,
          don't miss The Wanderer's Page. This site offers an unbelievable
          collection of rock and roll as well as other 50s memories.
          The Wanderer also offers music from the 60s and 70s.
          To visit this fabulous site, click below.




          A Little Mixed-up

          Just a line to say I'm living,
          That I'm not among the dead,
          Though I'm getting more forgetful
          and mixed up in my head.

          I've got used to my arthritis,
          to my dentures I'm resigned.
          I can manage my bifocals,
          But, Oh God, I miss my mind.

          For sometimes I can't remember
          when I stand at the foot of the stairs
          If I must go up for something
          Or I've just come down from there.

          And before the refridge, so often
          My poor mind is filled with doubt
          Have I just put food away, or
          have I come to take some out?

          And there's times when it is dark
          With my nightcap on my head
          I don't know if I'm retiring, or
          just getting out of bed.

          So, if it's my turn to write you
          There's no need you getting sore,
          I may think that I have written
          and don't want to be a bore.

          So remember, I do love you,
          And wish that you were near
          But it's nearly mail time,
          So must say, "Goodbye Dear".

          Love, Me

          P.S. Here I stand beside the mailbox
          With face so very red,
          Instead of mailing you my letter,
          I've opened it instead !!!

          Author Unknown



            

            ENCOUNTER
            

            by Ila Marie Goodey.
            

            "Who is that old woman?" I asked myself
looking into the mirror with surprise, 
lifting a brush from the vanity's shelf 
as she did, and staring into worn eyes 
that seemed amazed to see me watching there 
like some half-clad interloper. "I don't 
think I know you," said I, at once aware 
that she had said the same. We laughed, I won't 
say mirthfully, but in unison - friends 
by a strange quirk of fate, this wrinkled face 
and I. With haste I tried to make amends 
for pushing from my mind the very trace 
of recognition. She just stared at me: 
the gray-haired shell we did not want to be.
            

            

            

            

            SIGNS OF GROWING OLD
            

            Everything hurts and what doesn't hurt doesn't work.
The gleam in your eyes is from the sun hitting your bifocals.
You keep repeating yourself.
You feel like the morning after and you haven't been anywhere.
Your little black book contains only names that end in M.D.
Your children begin to look middle aged.
You finally reach the top of the ladder and find it leaning
  against the wrong wall.
Your mind makes contracts your body can't meet.
You look forward to a dull evening.
Your favorite part of the newspaper is "20 Years Ago Today."
You turn out the lights for economic rather than 
  romantic reasons.
You sit in a rocking chair and can't get it going.
Your knees buckle, and your belt won't.
You're 17 around the neck, 42 around the waist, and 95 
 around the golf course.
Your back goes out more than you do.
You sink your teeth into a steak, and they stay there.
You have too much room in the house and not enough 
  in the medicine cabinet.
You know all the answers, but nobody asks you the questions.
You keep repeating yourself.
You're asleep, but others worry that you're dead.
You quit trying to hold your stomach in, no matter who 
  walks into the room.
You buy a compass for the dash of your car.
You are proud of your lawn mower.
Your best friend is dating someone half their age...
  and isn't breaking any laws.
Your arms are almost too short to read the newspaper.
You sing along with the elevator music.
You would rather go to work than stay home sick.
You enjoy hearing about other people's operations.
You make an appointment to see the dentist.
You no longer think of speed limits as a challenge.
People call at 9 p.m. and ask, "Did I wake you?"
You have a dream about prunes.
You answer a question with, "Because I said so."
You send money to PBS.
The end of your tie doesn't come anywhere near the top 
  of your pants.
You take a metal detector to the beach.
You wear black socks with sandals.
You can't remember the last time you laid on the floor 
  to watch TV.
Your ears and nose are hairier than your head.
You get into a heated argument about pension plans.
You got cable for the Weather Channel (sometimes 
  referred to as "Old Folks MTV").
You have a party and the neighbors don't even realize it.
If a young girl looks at you, you check to make sure 
  you remembered to put on your pants.
You keep repeating yourself.
You discover bifocals are stylish.
When you do the "Hokey Pokey" you put your left hip out...
  and it stays out.
Most women you know under 40 put you in the "Friend of 
  my Father"  class.
Relatives smile benignly rather than interrupt you as 
  you retell the same story for the zillionth time.
You run out of breath walking DOWN a flight of stairs.
Conversations with people your own age often turn into 
  "dueling ailments."
People don't harass you any more when you take an 
  afternoon nap. 

            

            Author Unknown
            

            

            

            

            

            Back to About Mimesq

            

            Back to Main Page