I admit it…I don’t always act my age. I’m fifty, and I’ll be the first to tell you I’ve got all the charming medical issues that come with that…um…seasoned chronology.
In my head and my heart, I’m a young fifty. I want to be that spry 80 year old everyone looks up to. I want to keep my adventurous spirit and my zest for life. Now if only someone would tell that to my circulatory, digestive, and skeletal systems.
Working on this pattern, I began to take special notice of the hats around me. I’ve worn watch caps, stocking caps, and berets, but I’ve never work a “slouch.” The more I looked, the more it seemed to be the purvey of…dare I say it…younger folk. People who instagram, who sleep with their earbuds in, and have never known the joys of a rotary phone. In other words–despite the magazine test my son had me take recently that declared me a “hipster” whatever that is–not me.
As I move away from the headband and work my way through the stockinette increases–nice and zippy, by the way–my doubts increase along with the stitches. I love the color of this hat. I love the feel of the yarn. I love how soft and warm it is. Should I finish it and discover no one my age wears a slouch, I shall be annoyed.
But maybe I’ll discover my defiant streak.
Hey, I’ve got a friend who got a tattoo for her 50th. Maybe I will take up the slouch.
I’ve done odder things…