The times, they are a-changing

I remember recently telling Jamie that I so much don't want my kids and grandkids to think of me as old. (The subject was the fact that I sometimes don't answer my cell phone when it's under my nose, and I had seen him and Melanie exchange what I interpreted as alarmed looks as one of them said, "Jude, your cell phone is ringing." It does play "When the Saints go marching in" rather loudly, so it's hard to miss but I guess I tune it out.) He said they were not alarmed; they just thought it was funny.
But it occurred to me today that I'm in grave danger of becoming one of those old folks who reminisces about "the good old days." Everything around me is changing. My university is changing its physical appearance boldly and dramatically, building elaborate gateways and entrances to the campus, huge buildings that are right up on the curb, leaving no welcoming green space. The new student union under construction has been described as LaQuinta with an arch. We once had a vice chancellor in charge of buildings and grounds who insisted that the campus have lots of trees and lots of inviting green space, so students could study outdoors and classes could meet on the lawn. It was warm and inviting. I read this morning where a Starbucks customer complained the store had lost its "mom-and-pop home-away-from-home" feel, and that's how I feel about the campus.
My church is changing--the order of worship changes almost weekly, most of the people who "were the church" for me are gone. My good friend Betty, who involved me in lots of things, has retired. I knew our last minister and exchanged writing words with him a lot, he married Jordan and Christian; I'm not sure the new minister could put my name with my face. The Church and the Arts Committee of which I was an active member for years is on hold, virtually inactive. Part of my disconnect is of course my own fault--because I don't feel like it's my home-away-from-home, I've stopped going regularly. But I'm afraid if I go back--and I will--it won't be the "good old days." I don't want to change churches--I want my church to be for me what it always was.
Our daily newspaper is changing, now so slim it barely lasts you through a cup of coffee. There are few features, lots of glitz and glamour (I do NOT want to read another word about Britney on that dumb page called "Blab!"), syndicated book reviews. They did publish the letter I wrote about the disappearing newspaper and several friends contacted me to say hooray for you for writing. But the newspaper didn't listen. I don't want to take the Dallas paper--I want my hometown Sunday paper to take over an hour to read.
Change is inevitable--and good. I know that as well as anyone. But it sure does come with a price. Maybe, just maybe, I have to work on my adaptability.