The Mother of all Mothers.........

I don't much like it when reminders of my age crop up. I never wanted to sound like my mother or grandmother and use the terms, "the good old days", "back when I was young", "back in the day", etc., but there are just times when those terms are appropriate. I used to think of myself as young and hip, even as my forties loomed. Now, I just look in the mirror and there looking back is my mother saying something like, "nothing good happens after midnight".

I'm reminded every day that "things aren't the way they used to be." Lots of times when I pick up my cell phone, I'm reminded of the time when we had a rotary phone and a party line. As I stare at the computer screen, I think of the time when we had a black and white TV and actually wrote hand-written letters. I've never been big on delayed gratification, but I think in this day and age, it's unheard of. I think about how I waited for the mail every day to get a letter from a guy I knew in Vietnam and the feeling when the letter finally arrived! I think of how I couldn't wait to get home from a trip to the local drive-in restaurant and getting a message that my boyfriend had called. Maybe now, we're too connected. 
I guess all this nostalgia is sparked by a book I'm reading about Route 66. Man, I would have loved to make that trip in the Mother Road's heyday. We didn't make many road trips when I was growing up. Mostly they were from West Texas to Dallas. I wish I'd just taken off after high school on the Mother Road and who knows where I'd be now.
Maybe if we all got out on what remains of the Mother Road, we'd have stuff to actually "talk" about rather than post on our status. We could actually send post cards to people who would be thrilled to get some mail other than store ads. Most of us don't even get bills in the mail any more. Out there on the old road, we could buy souvenirs for friends instead of ordering them online. We could actually visit Winslow, Arizona and stand on the corner. We could eat food lovingly cooked by a real person with real ingredients rather than some Styrofoam eggs  on a fake biscuit with some paste for gravy. We could stay in a motel that has been owned by the same folks for 50 years and have the stories to prove it.

Ok, enough of my little trip down memory lane.....I'm thinkin' I'm gonna hit the Mother of all Mothers....Route 66..