I wish I was Hunky Dory

Changes: Jones, David Robert
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
(turn and face the strain)....
Don't want to be a richer man...
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can't trace time

During adolescence I fell in love with this David Bowie hit; he captured how change felt to me--it was both fluid and resistant. Summers lasted an eternity and were a mix of sleeping late, hanging out at the local graveyard in Watford, and hitchhiking into London dressed in silver platforms, black satin maxi, and matching blazer to see Bowie play. However, just as my love for boys at that time was fickle so was my love for David.

The glitzy glam rock look was quickly replaced by a strange mix of Levis and vintage 1940's tops found at jumble sales, sewn by my best friend, F, or found in her mother's closet. I now listened to American artists like The Band, Linda Ronstadt, and Emmy Lou Harris. Instead of hitchhiking to London I baked onion quiches and apple pies for the local bands' gigs, while hanging out in the graveyard was replaced by midnight walks in the barley fields close to home. Despite these swift changes, I knew I would not become those ancient thirty something three piece suited clones, who dutifully walked by my house on their way home from the train station, and their smoky London offices.

Somehow over thirty five years have passed and I have continued to tumble through time. I never became a three piece suited clone, instead I wore the uniform of mother, wife, single mom, waitress, chef, massage therapist, student, nana, and dare I say athlete, but I did turn 20, 30, 40 ,50...

These thoughts bobbled through my mind as my body bobbed up and down in a sea of blue heads. It was Saturday 7.00 a.m.; I thought I would have the Y swimming pool to my self to deep water run. Instead, I was an invader of their space as they lunged back and forth with huge blue dumbbells that made their silver hair shimmer. I should have been warming up in my scarlet racing shoes, discussing race strategy with my best buddy,T, at the Tom King half-marathon; ready to hang on to T's quick step for an hour and sub forty if I was lucky. Instead here I was looking at my future in those crinkled determined faces. My inflamed hip taunted me, "Your days of speed are shot; welcome to the world of low impact submersion."

I glanced at the clock 8.00a.m.; T would be speeding along without me and finish in an incredible 1.37 and 2nd in her age group! I was alone in the deep end of the pool, the school of silver had migrated to the shallows where they laughed and giggled as a buff life guard yelled out instructions for the water aerobics class. I could feel the strain of the decades pulling me to submission. Yes, maybe I was"...gonna have to be a different man.", but I know when my hip and I are on better speaking terms I'll lace up my scarlet racing shoes and feel the fluidity of my step a few more times before I reach my next decade.