Too O-L-D

Some of you know that one of my main activities (and by “activity” I mean, “more movement than lying on the couch watching TV”) is going through the detritus of my life, sorting and tossing. There is a rule in office work that you only touch a piece of paper one time, and when you let go of it, it is filed, shredded, or passed on. It is history and you will never deal with it again.
What a beautiful concept.
My personal rule is that I pick it up, look at it not knowing quite what to do with it, and then add it to a pile. At some point I go through the pile and attend to things with time considerations, such as mortgage payments and power bills, and things I can recycle.
There is always the starter for the next pile, though – paper I can not figure out how to classify or process. Also there are drawings and other art projects my sons did when they were sweet, adorable little boys (there, you see how memory shines things up? They were sweet and adorable, and they were also little boys, so you figure it out). I cannot let go of these precious mementos of the past, theirs and mine, but I don’t exactly have anywhere to put them, so – they go into piles, which I sort through again and again. You can see why it is taking me so long to pare down the baggage.
The reason I take the time to look at every piece of paper is that sometimes I find treasure. Yesterday I found that notebook which I mentioned in my previous piece, and was warmly reminded of my friend Fran. Right after what I wrote about Fran, though, was a song lyric that never made it any farther than the page of that notebook. It’s in my handwriting, so I know I wrote it.
When I think of all the times I wished I could write a song, begged God to send me a song, went ape-poop haywire because I could not for the life of me write a song, gave up in despair and decided I would never, ever, write another song, it wonders me something wonderful that I wrote this lyric and then forgot all about it. It’s a squandering of creativity that horrifies me.
OK, so maybe it’s not a great song. I never know when I write these things. I take down the dictation, and maybe I put it to music, and if I sing it for other people and it seems to have meaning to them, I learn it, and sing it again.
When I read these words, I thought, hm, I can relate to that, and I’ll bet a lot of other women (and men?) my age could, as well. It’s a spelling song, and it goes like this:
I went to get a J-O-B
So I could pay my rent
They said I was too O-L-D
And that is how it went
I read the ads, I made the calls
I sent out resumes
On paper, great,
But then the gate
No J-O-B today

Too O-L-D
Too F-A-T
Grandma is too gray
Their eyes shut down,
I turn around
No J-O-B today.

It ain’t as though I want to go
‘Way up the corporate heap
The bottom’s fine, a job that’s mine
So I can earn my keep
I’m told that older workers
Are reliable and smart
But how’s an older worker
Going to get an honest start?

Too O-L-D
Too F-A-T
Grandma is too gray
Their eyes shut down,
I turn around
No J-O-B today.

Look out, Tammy Wynette.