As We Both Get Older

On aging parents and staying young.

Happy Wednesday dog lovers! I hope everyone has been having a lovely week so far.

First things first: we can celebrate Hallie OFFICIALLY getting adopted! As you probably saw from our video, Hallie got adopted by a dream family who is head over heels in love with her. I always pictured her with a family with kids – every time I walked her she would stop for every kid who passed by and give them lots of kisses – and now she has two (human) siblings who adore her.

See below a text message I got from Hazel, Hallie’s new sister:

I mean… is that not the cutest text EVER?!

We’ve been in full preparation mode for our trip this week – we leave for Italy on Monday and it’s officially crunch time. Isn’t it crazy how much money you spend just preparing for a trip? New clothes, sunscreen, airplane neck pillows, a resupply of dog medication, dog sitter, a travel adapter, etc. I’ve also been working overtime to prepare for while I’m gone – this is my first real trip since starting my freelance career, and let me tell you… the weeks leading up to it are STRESSFUL.

I came to the realization that if I don’t get the work done, I just won’t get paid. It’s not like a salaried position where I can take two weeks off and someone else will cover for me or I can get it done when I’m back. So I’ve been cramming four weeks of work into two weeks, and I’m glad it’s almost over.

Which leads me to my next request: if anyone has any great vacation books to recommend, drop them below! Can be any genre, but I request the books be fun and not require *too* much brain power.

ALSO – I will be taking the next two weeks off from Substack while I’m away! The next post will be on June 5th, the first Wednesday I get back. Thank you for understanding!

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As We Both Get Older

My dad turned 70 on October 5th. That’s the whole reason we’re going to Italy – to celebrate him. My mom’s birthday is the very next day – October 6th – but I won’t reveal her exact age (you’re welcome, mom).

All by way of saying, my parents are getting older. We all are. In many ways I still feel like a blundering 22 year old, not knowing exactly how to file my taxes and still being too scared to drive in New York City traffic.

Every time I celebrate the birthday of someone I love, I’m shocked at the time that has passed. Angry, even. How is it possible that my dad is 70? My dad, who swims across the Hudson River and insists on biking long distances any time the sun comes out. My dad, who can stay up later than most young people I know.

Or my mom, who has a more active social life than all of my friends combined. My mom, who’s sparkling eyes and bubbly personality still make most men fall in love.

I don’t mind getting older – in fact, my 30’s have been pretty amazing so far. I'm more settled, have more money, and am just generally… better. But every year my parents tack on feels like a personal attack, another year I am robbed of their love.

And I’m lucky in that way, I suppose. I’m certainly lucky to have parents I love so thoroughly, and lucky to have people I cling to.

But I’m also lucky that my parent’s aging is something I have to be reminded of with a birthday cake and a song. It’s something I often forget, because they’re so youthful in every other way. In my mind, my parents are eternally 50 years old – and to be quite honest, they look and act almost exactly the same as they did 20 years ago.

Growing up, my parents were in a rock and roll band called Backspin and the Spinettes. My dad was a singer and guitarist, and my mom was one of the three Spinettes.

Backspin mostly covered rock and Motown songs like Proud Mary, My Girl, and various Beatles tunes. They would play at local bars or events, and they were nothing short of a local sensation. The won our town’s Battle of the Bands year after year, each trophy displayed proudly on our out of tune piano in the living room.

But their biggest show was playing the Fourth of July set at Floods Hill, where hundreds of families from all over would come to watch the fireworks show. The Spinettes would come decked out in their sparkly patriotic outfits – my mom had a blast shopping for their costumes at places like Annie Sez – and completely wow the crowd.

The grand finale was them singing the national anthem as fireworks boomed above us, sparkles decorating the humid night sky. Some kids might have been embarrassed by their parents being so publicly showy, but I thought it was ridiculously cool. To me, my parents were rockstars. They still are.

So while the inevitable happens – I get older, and they get older – I am grateful to have a mom and dad who can still light up a night sky.

These days, that looks more like long nights on their back deck and a couple bottles of wine, but it moves me just the same.