Just returned from Thanksgiving in Sun City, Arizona, home of my in-laws.
I love seeing them; however, I leave Kids Kastle for a place where Seniors Reign Supreme. For those not familiar with this Del Webb retirement community, you have to be at least 55 to live in Sun City, and the local hot spot would be Furr's cafeteria.
Among my observations: This is a place where people drive their golf carts to church on Sunday and consider anytime after 4:30 p.m. to be dining late. The economic downturn doesn't stop the Bingo crowd. If my father-in-law wins big, he just might buy something off Jewelry Television, which my in-laws have been watching for a while, but have yet to actually buy anything. But they make a game out of guessing how much something might cost. They say they've gotten good at it.
It's always funny for me to go running in Sun City. Even on a cold day, it's 50+ degrees as the sun is rising. For me, this means I'm usually out in my running shorts and a shirt. Most of the other walkers I encounter are wearing parkas, gloves and have their dogs dressed in little sweaters. On Friday, I had to run 16 miles, and I knew I'd warm up quick, so I was out in my shorts and jog bra and some guy actually had the nerve to ask me where my shirt was.
We took Dylan to see the new Disney movie Bolt, and my father-in-law moaned as we drove into the parking lot at 4:00 p.m. "Look how BUSY this place is! I hope we can find a place to park!" he gestures at a half empty parking lot. "Hope the movie isn't sold out!"
We arrive and find ample seating, but when he goes at 11:00 a.m. during the week, it's NOTHING like this.
While it's easy for me to see the humor in all of this, I better watch out. I can only imagine what college-aged kids (when did they become "kids?" when did I become old?) and Dylan's generation will make of my moaning about not knowing how to program my phone, figure out my IPod, and work the most basic computer programs.
Oh wait... I've already been making those complaints. So, I show my own signs of aging in a less than graceful manner. My only hope is that Dylan will be 6 as I turn 40, and part of his job, though he doesn't know it yet, will be to help keep me young. Perhaps I can keep my "quasi-with it" style going, at least a little longer. At least, I'd like to think I'm still a little bit "with it!"
Just don't let me eat at Furr's, OK?