The supper conversation was flying around my head, it seemed like a dozen people were talking at once. In reality there were probably six separate streams of conversation crisscrossing the table. All were animated and intense because that's just how our family rolls. Then one of the streams of chatter turned to technology and I zeroed in waiting for someone to breathe so I could participate. I had a question, actually I had several questions and who better to ask than a posse of tech savvy twenty somethings.
There is an inherent danger in posing your techie questions in that setting, the danger of having the other five table conversations suddenly descend into stillness after you have asked your question and finding yourself the recipient of some good natured teasing. In this case, the possibility of receiving some timely advice and a broader understanding of the technology I am using outweighed the risk of being teased. So I lobbed my question to the gang, and waited to see what wonderful tidbits of help I got back. When the first question went smoothly I gathered my confidence and asked several follow up questions.
I was trying to understand some concepts around the operation of Twitter, but my ignorance triggered twittering around the table of the old fashioned variety. I started with basic Twitter questions, what's a hash tag, how does it work, why would you use one. I had their attention and it seemed I might learn something useful so I went for it. What I failed to foresee was the declaration that would be bestowed on me and the way it would stay with me for weeks to come making me think about aging.
"Mum, you are asking old people questions!" said entirely without malice, underlined with humor and amazement that I would have to ask those questions. I need to be clear that it was not a put down, rather it was a lift up. There were a few assumptions the speaker had made. First, I use this technology for my business therefore I must understand it. Second, I am not old so asking old people questions shouldn't happen.
What constitutes an old people question? Who are the old people? Does another birthday slipping past make you old? Will doing hot yoga keep me young? How can I avoid ever asking another old people question?
That's a lot of pondering, and pictures are sometimes far more effective in telling a story than words. Do I want to be the elderly lady in the decrepit building in Rome, looking out on life and watching it pass by? Or do I want to be the man in the orange jacket in the square with his dog? I know I want to be like the guy in the orange jacket and tie, right in the middle of the square living with a little panache.
Clothed figuratively in flaming orange, I am soldiering on learning how to work the technology. Last week's blog revealed that I needed to switch up some settings so you could comment. Thanks to all of you who took the time to send a note and thanks for letting me know the comment feature was malfunctioning. As long as I can figure out these things I know for sure my glass is half full, and last time I checked my old meter, I didn't feel old.