When I stood up after a one-hour meeting this morning, my hips popped and cracked so loudly that my coworker and I had to laugh about it. But I’ll take the creaking bones and sore muscles in exchange for the two hours of roller skating joy I felt yesterday afternoon.  Those sounds were just one more reminder that these hips will never be 15 years old again.  For that, I am grateful.

Back in middle and high school, roller skating was a thing.  It was The Eighties, so we skated in Gloria Vanderbilt jeans with a plastic comb sticking out of the back pocket, sequined leg warmers twinkling in the disco lights.  On a Friday night at the Skate Inn, the air hung thick with Aqua Net, Love’s Baby Soft and Polo.  I didn’t live close enough to The Big City to get to go skating every weekend–only about 3-4…