Retire has a minion!

Tacky the Sequin

"Old age is for sissies." - Bette Davis

I had never really put much thought into what it meant to be young, only in that the years of my life were passing. Every year of life meant certain rituals would occur.

Firstly, someone would bake (or in most instances, buy) me a cake. A sheet cake of vanilla with the words "Happy Birthday" written in royal blue icing across a sheet of white frosting.

The second, the singing of "Happy Birthday" that would be punctuated with all eyes on me, anticipating my breath as I blew out the candles.

The last was opening the cards of well wishes I had been given.

As these rituals came and went many things changed about me:

Appearance - my body received its first of many wrinkles and my hair lost its color, shifting from a bright copper brown to a greying snowy white. Most unfortunate of all, I received a loss of vision. It was demanded that I wear eyeglasses.

Movement - my fast pace, something I had relied on in my younger years turning to more of a crawl. My up and go changed to a creak or a crack of bones and muscle.

Fashion - My choices not following the fashion trends became muted. I began to try and blend, not wanting to be seen.

None of these changes were anything that I had given much thought about until the day my granddaughter, now herself a young adult, stopped in my store. She asked in a voice, a combination of curiosity and concern, what year I was planning on retiring. The question stopped me in mid-motion as I pulled a thread through the silver sequin that I had been attaching to a dress. I adjusted my glasses, pushing them up the bridge of my nose and looked straight at my granddaughter. "Why would I ever want to give this up?" moving my arms in a grand gesture as if I was modeling the new and fashionable car to be won on the new game show.

This is where I put art... when I get some

Where I'll put credit

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