Etched in Stone

I'm a boomer. I vote. I mind the thermostat, keeping the temp just shy of Goldilocksian just rightness.

I'm a boomer. While growing up, the holocaust was still a societal fresh memory. And a couple of atom bombs. And imminent nuclear war, whose threat, ironically, has reared its ugly head again.

I'm a boomer, and just when I'm tempted to think about "greatest generations" and such, I realize I like all of the new people.

I'm a boomer, but I'm not proud. Boomers are old. They act like they were born old. They acted like that and dressed like that when they were growing up. And they grew up. Right into these old people.

So I'm a boomer-denier, recalcitrant. I eschew the boomer persona.

Yet, even reborn, rewoke boomers remember things as they were. Things that persist--inert, immutable, and finished--fixed in place--even when life moved on. Perfect casts of those we leave behind, marbled in stone--truth be told.

Like those frozen in place in the ruins of Pompeii. Or Han Solo in his Carbonite.

A story:

I had a crush on this adorable, amazing girl in high school. She was my puerile unrequited love. But as I moved on in life, in my mind's eye she remained the same all these years: adorable and amazing. Beautiful. Fun. Shapely and sexy and--did I say--adorable.

But we never happened. Oh, the pain!

I used to pray that I'd be OK with whatever God planned if, at just some point in my life, she would be with me. Even if it took all my life. Even until my last day on Earth: if I could have her then (and she, me), it'd be just fine with me and thank you, God.

At reunions, conferences, or pledge drives, I'd ask about her, but no one had any intel on her. I was dying to know how she turned out. Married to whomever (and not me), was she happy?

After countless alumni pages, chasing surnames, and very deep search engineering, I found a possibility, a link. Finally! I did a [Ctrl+F] of all of her names--first, last, maiden, and married. A name set some letters on fire to highlight, way down the column inches. Somewhere down an obscure scrollable site of a garden club blog that promised...pictures!

But before I took my final stroll, savoring in my mind's eye my running through the fields toward a slow-motion embrace of the girl I knew and loved, I stopped.

What if she's dead? This site was from two years ago.

I searched the name that lined up the correct search engine tumblers and added..."Obituary."

Nothing! As if God was telling me, "There's a chance."

I used the left arrow to advantage and went back to my highlight. I tiptoed down the web page. There she was, her name in the legend below the picture that identified her second from the right.

My God, she looked just like an old boomer! But happy.

And adorable.

BOOM! God had had different plans for these boomers who each traded up. And to the x's, millennials, z's, alphas, betwixters, and nexters, I realize God was on point all along, because my life was way better the way things had turned out. In fact, enjoying life's perfect Goldilocksian just rightness.