Kathy Rohloff: Over Fifty and Respectable

Kathy Rohloff: Over Fifty and Respectable

Russ and I spent the last week on vacation in Maine. We clambered over rocks next to the ocean, ate ice cream on the wharf, read, lounged in front of the fireplace, satisfied any food craving that we had, and never combed our hair or concerned ourselves with the clothing we had on. How satisfying is that?

Since I work with the public I have to be aware of how I appear. This often results in three to four outfit changes each morning trying to look what? Modern? Young? Professional? Put together? Just seeing the words in print causes me to chuckle; some things are out of the realm of reality.

What I usually aim for is respectable, a word that my girls have applied to me for many years.

"Mom, that looks respectable. Glad you have on that outfit." Translation: I will be seen in public with you.

About 12 years ago when they were teens, we happened to pass a woman in her 40's while entering a Wal-Mart. For 40+ she looked good, in the micro shorts, halter, and peroxide hair. I mean, if you like that look. After she passed us my daughters turned to me, glanced over my carpenter jeans, golf tee, and tennis shoes and gushed, "Thank you."

"What? What did I do?"

"It’s not what you did, but what you don’t wear. You look like our mom, respectable."

I was flattered. I think. Clearly my days of micro shorts, halter, et al were over. (Frankly, except for the halter, think 1970, I really never did the micro shorts and peroxide. I shudder to think of it even now.)

It is funny how your kids tend to put you in a box though. Three years ago when I was turning 50, Elisabeth informed me that she and Hannah were discussing our future. Fifty tends to make everybody think about time passing. They felt that if I died first, they could keep Russ relatively well with food and books. "But he’ll be pretty sad, so we think it’s better if he dies first."

How comforting!

She went on to inform me that I could come live with them. "I don’t think you’ll be a problem. You’ll just fit in and help with the kids and cooking. I mean, we get along well and you tend to keep yourself busy. Peter said he’ll chip in money."

"You guys really have been talking about this?" I asked, amazed.

"Yeah, what do you think?"

"What do I think? Elisabeth, I’m going to be 50 years old and I could live a lot of years. I won’t be moving in with anybody."

"But what will you do?"

"Honey, I’m gonnna buy me a short skirt, dye my hair blonde, and find me a man!"

There was a poignant silence, and then, "You’re kidding, right?"

"Yeah, I won’t be looking for a man. I want to be respectable."