All my life “old people” taking on the role of the fates told me of pending travesties. “When you’re older, you won’t be able to eat as much!”  That one hurt.  “You won’t need as much sleep.” That one encouraged.  And the list could go on.

As I reached the milestones dag nab it! They came true.  It is harder to lose weight and easier to gain weight at the young age of 30 plus 12.  And, when did the hubby playing Ozzy Osborne at 7 in the morning become something that was too loud for normal people?

In their defense I was warned to cherish the days with my children. And, only a dummy would ignore that advice. So the days with the boys were golden.  I learned to laugh more than adults would deem appropriate.  Shoot I got a masters degree in technology so I could keep up with them.

Then something horrible happened, and oddly it happened all at once.  They were gone. Stunned was my first reaction.  I never had milk long enough for it to go bad.  Nor, were we aware of the fact that those 4 pound packages of chicken could endure for longer than one meal. Nobody told me that.

They also didn’t say that I would roam the house like a ghost, unaware that the life I remembered doesn’t exist anymore. And I would never want to be the Ghost Whisperer, because when I figured out that I was the ghost, the reaction was extreme.Every once in a while I catch the hubby looking at me out of the side of his eyes.

I saw no purpose for my life. Well, there’s always eating, but you can only do so much of that before the tastes become boring.  And, food doesn’t taste good unless there is someone threatening to snatch a bite, when you aren’t looking.

After 7 days of this, I realized 2 things.  Mrs. B has an empty nest and she is depressed. Which is shocking because I still am the happiest depressed person I know. What happens next? Is this why old ladies have that big hair?  It this why old men feed birds at the park?  Will my husband get more appreciable tastes in music? (We can only hope)  I think it’s the not knowing what’s next is what makes this so hard.

Now I look at old people with a little bit of curiosity, hoping they will say this is what you’ll do next.  Thus far, the fogey’s ain’t talking. And it’s kind of a bummer that they’re fragile.  Otherwise I just might shake the answer out of them. Instead, I wade through the unknown and wonder, what will my decisions entail, now that they won’t have a significant effect on “the family.”  I can tell you this much ( please don’t tell my children) I don’t hark so much about dirty dishes.