It’s official

No, no! Knit two, purl ONE!

I am now an honorary old person.

Like all Baby Boomers, I have fought the battle against aging bravely, refusing to dress my age, pretending that wrinkles are smile lines, and doing something every day that would embarrass my kids if they knew about it.

We’re the generation that won’t ever grow old, right?  I remember when the words “don’t trust anyone over 30” crossed my moist and dewy lips, and now we’re twice that age.  Somehow we forgot to account for the law of nature – that the old make way for the young. Go figure.

Until now, I have avoided the Old People Place (euphemistically called the Adult Community Center – the ACC).  After all, everyone knows it’s for people with walkers and oxygen tanks.  I mean, even my parents (in their mid-80s) think that such centers are for folks older than themselves, so at 59, I’m MUCH too young to drink stale coffee and play bingo in the middle of the day, right?

Yes!  Yes! A thousand times yes! I’m too young to play bingo!

Still, the lure of finding like-minded people who were free on a weekday morning drove me to check out a knitting group that meets every Friday at the above mentioned ACC in San Carlos.

My first trip, I was in stealth mode. I parked a block away so no one would know where I was going.  I walked perkily to the front door of the ACC with my knitting bag.  The group was right there in the library, stitching and chatting away.

A glance around the table didn’t dissuade me from feeling like an interloper.  There was a lot of white hair there.  But then (aha!) I spied a couple of women who might even be younger than I.  Either that, or they buy the fancy department store moisturizer instead of what’s on sale at Walgreen’s.

The group welcomed me and told me to pull up a chair.  They scooted around, making room at the table, and introduced themselves.

For nearly two hours, they talked about who has the best yarn prices, who were the mean volunteers and who were the friendly ones, and which ACC habitués were lacking in the personal hygiene department, prompting me to surreptitiously sniff my armpits while I pretended to be untangling some yarn.

The gossip was interrupted by oohs and ahs about one project or another and soon I forgot to be self-conscious about being among old people.  We were all just women who loved yarn.

I was feeling all warm and fuzzy (pun intended) when they asked me to join them for coffee hour down the hall.

I followed behind, sat for twenty minutes, and soon discovered that coffee hour attracts certain types:
1. those who are there for the stale baked goods.
2. those who are there to check out chicks (no, really).
3. those who think it’s still high school and don’t want you to sit at their table.

I approached the food table, ready to take a chance on a bagel, when I noticed that the woman in front of me was picking up each an every bagel half and putting it back on the plate.  Afraid that she might be one of those lacking-in-personal-hygiene individuals, I decided to pass on the pastry.

So here’s the deal.  I am not ready to be an Old Person just yet.  I still smell OK, I still drive after dark, and I know how to program my DVR.  That in itself disqualifies me as a geezer.

But, you know?  Old lady knitters are pretty cool.  I’m glad they let me join their club.

© 2010 Mary Hanna