Perception or Reality?

       Yesterday all the planets lined up for me. It's nice when that happens. Job hunting went well; I have several leads, plus I received five new writing assignments. The thing is, when there are clouds, there is usually rain, and rain is good for growth.
       After the "hunt" I met Bruce at the house and we headed out to a music jam at Woody's Barbecue in Yulee, where we like to play music and hang out with our friends. Me on ukulele, Bruce on guitar and mandolin. Most of the musicians are far better than me, and that helps me improve my skills. We left the jam a little early, in order to go home and listen to Electro Lounge, one of my favorite public radio shows. Last night host David Luckin featured rare Dylan and Elvis recordings. Yeah.
       But the highlight of my day was when I stopped into a local convenience store to get gas. Never a beloved task as I watch my PT Cruiser slowly suck the money out of my dwindling checking account. But as I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed an elderly woman pumping gas into her beat up, red pickup truck. She must have been nearly 90 years old. I don't know much about trucks, but hers was one of those monstrous, gas-guzzling road hogs, one that I would be scared to drive because it was just too big.
      Her husband sat in the passenger seat, slack-jawed and unblinking. He was probably older than she was. I imagined he must have been living in her shadow for 60 or 70 years, at least. The thing about this woman was that if you didn't see her face and grey hair, she otherwise looked like a teenager. She was dressed in jeans, a tee shirt, and sneakers. She pumped her gas without squinting at the gas pump screen, swiping her credit card like a pro. Then when she was done, she scrambled up into her truck in the manner that a kid climbs up a jungle gym. She unrolled her car window, started the truck, and drove out of the gas station, her left elbow hanging out the window like a cocky adolescent.
       That scene at the convenience store was a gift. I admired her spunk, her independence. I secretly wanted to be her. Maybe not right now, but 30 years from now. Is age a reality, or a perception? For one fleeting moment, I considered that growing older wasn't so bad after all.