I got a little freaked out last weekend when I visited a recreational resort. That’s Where I met
- and George.
Three life-sized wooden bears standing in front of a cutesy woosty recreational lot.
Honestly, it scared me. This example of old age out of control.
Then, I remembered the lion king. Elton John and his Cycle of Life lament. That’s what the bears were all about. It’s the cycle of life swinging back around.
It’s starts with kids. They do weird things to rattle their parents.
- Get tattoos
- Wear funky clothes
- Blast loud music
I grew up in the sixties and the seventies. No tattoos. My clothes were only considered funky because they were so conservative they were practically artifacts from another era.
As for music, I don’t think I heard the sound of drums until I was out of high school.
Then, I got a job at a bank.
That’s where I learned to belt out “You’ve blown it all sky high” by the Jigsaws and “Emotions” by the BeeJees over the loud speaker. In no time I was singing along while I counted out change.
That was me. Raising hell.
Now, the closest to raising hell is looking like it before I cover my wrinkles with make-up and poof up my thinning hair.
Until this weekend, I figured that window of opportunity had closed. This portal of self expression. The chance to shock another generation with the audacity of awkwardness.
That was before this weekend. Before I saw the three bears. So cute in an in-your-face crafty way. So adorable and yet so disturbing.
Congratulations, Bonnie, Boob and George. That’s living on the edge.