Signs of age

               This is my hand. It is not my mother’s hand.

               When I turned 40, my current college students weren’t even born.

            When I was little we had a milkman who left paper-lidded glass bottles of milk in a metal box outside our back door.

            Also, my mom ground her own hamburger with a hand-cranked grinder that clamped to the kitchen table.

            I played dress up with her old hoop skirt.

            Sometimes I still say, “Good heavens!”

            It takes all four of us to remember the score when we change sides in tennis.

            My Aunt Lucy who took me on nature walks was born in the 19th century.
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            To find my birth year I have to scroll down so far.
           
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 16: 119 words, TOTAL = 2644;  57,356 remaining