On Aging and Erma Bombeck

I recently told my niece that I wanted to be the Erma Bombeck of autism. I have always admired the late Erma Bombeck and her style of writing, her way of telling stories, her ability to find humor in the mundane. And we all know that David provides me with plenty of material for stories.

A blank stare from my extremely well-read niece confirmed that she had no idea who Erma Bombeck was. But, it wasn't the blank stare that bothered me so much as the traces of a grin, which when combined with the stare made me feel old. I could only have felt more ancient if the stare and the grin had also been accompanied by the almost imperceptable head nod, an indication not of attention, but mollification.

Normally, I would not really have given the stare much extra consideration, but I was still experiencing the sting of the rejected swim coverup. I had offered my swim coverup to the aforementioned niece to take to a lake party over the weekend and was informed, by my sister who was apparently serving as diplomat in this instance, that my swim coverup was not "hip" enough. Not only did I not realize that my swim coverup was not "hip," I did not even realize that swim coverups could be "hip." Who knew?

Still, I refuse to give up my admiration for Erma. I can remember listening to a recording of hers with my parents during a long car trip. Or, now that I think about it, I believe the recording was really a humorous story of HER vacation drive with HER kids.

Isn't memory the first thing to go?