By the time you read this column, I will officially be considered a senior citizen by Goodwill and a host of other local establishments with discounts for the 55-plus crowd. I’m still mulling over how I feel about achieving this status, even though I enjoy saving money as much as the next person.
I’ll confess I’ve already dipped my toes into the senior discount world. I was an associate AARP member at 42 after signing Mike up for his membership as a 50th birthday surprise. (He didn’t think this gift was as funny as I did.) I’ll admit to sneaking a free cup of coffee and a piece of cake on senior discount day at Fry’s, back when nobody thought twice about hundreds of hands touching the same cake server or coffee pot. I’ve been automatically granted discounts by young cashiers who assumed I was comfortably in the senior zone.
Time certainly feels like it is speeding up as the years go by. As a kid, I remember reading a book that said we’d have flying cars and cities on the moon by the year 2000. More shocking than the idea of living on the moon was realizing I’d be 33 that year.
It’s hard not to panic a little, knowing that if all goes well, I’m just a decade or so away from retiring. It doesn’t seem that long ago I was putting on a scratchy polyester fast-food uniform to make some extra money in high school and now I’m reviewing my 401K plan and getting diagnosed with my first cataract.
I do think I’m lucky to be surrounded every day at work by people in their 70s, 80s, 90s, and even a few in their hundreds. It helps me to see that there’s plenty to appreciate in every decade, even if what brings us happiness might change along the way.
Recently, one of our 95-year-old assisted-living residents stopped by my office to let me know a friend of hers from a local quilting guild had donated a beautiful Christmas quilt to our facility. She asked if I could follow her to her apartment to pick it up and figure out where to hang it for all the residents to enjoy this holiday season.
When she moved in last year, she mentioned she still loved to quilt, but I hadn’t been in her bedroom before. A vintage black Singer sewing machine sits on her quilting table, with stacks of fabric squares nearby for projects she works on in her spare time. On the wall over her bed is a quilt with Arizona-themed squares, each made by a friend in her guild and sewn together during a quilting bee.
We carefully unrolled the precious Christmas quilt on her bed and admire the appliqued nutcrackers, gingerbread men, and candy canes surrounding a giant evergreen in the center. She showed me the intricate stitching on the back. There’s copper wiring and tiny lights that have been delicately pushed through to the front. When I slid the button on the tiny battery pack, the tree on the front lit up like a small Christmas miracle. I spent the next five minutes excitedly running up and down the hallways, showing the quilt off to everyone I can find.
After gently folding the gift back up and promising I would store it safely in a pillowcase until the holiday season, I noticed another quilt in progress stretched across her bed. “Are these t-shirts?” I asked, recognizing a few national parks and sports teams in the mix. The memories tumbled out as she pointed to each piece in the quilt, telling me the stories attached to each square. A lifetime of adventures was being stitched together in front of me, a reminder that something as simple as a gift shop t-shirt can become a treasured heirloom in the right hands. And that no matter how old we are, what we do each day can still bring joy and make a difference in this world.