If I could turn back time

Half of people aged 60 and older are online. I read that somewhere when I was trying to figure out why my mother was on Facebook.

As you may recall from previous posts, she is quite a bit of a character. Unfortunately, it does not come across in her online persona, as she insists on being totally demure and subdued. Just the other day she called me in a huff because someone had tagged her in a photo that wasn’t very flattering. So, being the good daughter, I walked her through the process of untagging (and then I kept the photo for myself and posted it across all of my social media networks).

As of late, she’s been using Facebook as a display board for her family photos. Everyday she posts two or three black and white pictures and her dearest 3 friends comment on her youthful beauty or on how much time has passed.

I’ve seen these pictures hundreds of times. My mom was big about show and tell and I didn’t mind being shown and told. I can’t tell you how may hours I spent flipping through crackling albums and boxes of photos – ignoring her every word and making up my own stories and names from the images.

Her latest post, however, was of a photo I had never seen and the catalyst for the most confusing 90 seconds of my life.

timetravel

First, I spent some time admiring my outfit. I wondered if it was part of my Beethoven stage, as I figured I was right around the age I began taking piano lessons. And then I thought that pattern on the skirt and shirt was clearly the inspiration for Tetris or Galactica. Then my focus shifted to the actual photo. I thought it was very artsy of them to take a black and white photo in the 80’s when color was all the rage.

After about half-a-minute, I noticed my father on the right, who was totally asleep, next to my mother in the polka dots and mustache and I was like boy they look young. And then I recognized the guy standing next to my mom was her father (they have the same mustache), which was weird because I was told I never got to meet him because he died before I was born. But there he was standing next to me and holding my brother…who is almost nine years my elder.

Wait, what?

I felt myself getting dizzy. I remembered that final scene from “The Shinning,” you know with the photo of Jack Nicholson from the past or the future or whatever that was:

shiningprequel__span__span

Before stepping away from the computer to look for an ax, I read my mom’s post where she explained that it was a photo her half-sister emailed from Cuba. And the little girl in the photo was my mysterious half-an-aunt-with-two-arms that is currently wandering around Cuba. (So, just a quick recap I have a half-aunt in Cuba that I’ve never met and a great-aunt with half-an-arm in the States that won’t leave me alone.)

I kept staring her image in the photo. The resemblance is uncanny.

If this woman and I looked exactly the same at that age, perhaps if I found current photo of her, it would be a good indicator of how I will look when I’m 50. So, I trolled my mother’s Facebook page until I found one. And, well…

There she was, in a bathing suit, and she’s hideous.

Use me, use me

‘n good news! I found a new Facebook muse. Thank you for all your words of encouragement, letters and voicemails. It took some time, but I think I found him. That’s right, it’s a man. And he is fantastic.

My last muse expressed herself in written form, which, don’t get me wrong, was inspirational. But, this guy shares nothing. Not a word on his status updates. Instead, he relies solely on posting images. Which only makes me want to fill in the blanks. I guess that old adage, “a picture is worth a thousand words,” has some serious merit.

Open Arms
My muse welcomes me with open arms.

After clicking through image after image after shirtless image, I’ve started writing again. Incessantly. This guy makes words flow from me like sewer water from a broken sprinkler. Frankly, I don’t even know where he came from. A friend of a friend maybe? I have a vague recollection of who this might be, but I can’t be too sure. Regardless, I’m happy because now I have B-cup pecks in my News Feed at all times.

Get your own muse. This one is mine!

In all fairness, he doesn’t always pose topless. My muse covers up when he has company. He recently posted this little gem from a get together:

Muse on the left. Ladies center. Grampa of muse holding a towel over his head on the right.

Can my muse get wild or what? And how cool is the dude in the glasses? More importantly, how do I get invited to this party?

Hmm. I suppose I have to take off my shirt.