Sunday, July 10, 2011
Stirring The Embers to Flame: 18 or 81?
Stirring The Embers to Flame: 18 or 81?: "Rushing through KMart yesterday with an armload of stuff, I stopped in the card section to pick up a sympathy card for a friend who is griev..."
Friday, July 8, 2011
18 or 81?
Rushing through KMart yesterday with an armload of stuff, I stopped in the card section to pick up a sympathy card for a friend who is grieving her mother's passing. An aged gentleman in a worn straw hat held a birthday card with a large 18 on it in his hand. He asked me if there were any number cards, and I slurred an "I don't see any," while fervantly looking for 'sympathy.'
He turned to me and said, "She's turning 81, and I found this 18, maybe she'll chuckle at my mistake."
I stopped in my tracks: This elderly gentleman not only had a fun sense of humor, he had a strong desire to make his lady laugh. His wrinkled face held beautiful, twinkling blue eyes, and his hair had a sense of blond still through the gray. He was alive, thinking, and caring for someone else besides himself.
I learned a strong lesson about love and laughter and aging gracefully in that two minute exchange, and he doesn't even know it.
He turned to me and said, "She's turning 81, and I found this 18, maybe she'll chuckle at my mistake."
I stopped in my tracks: This elderly gentleman not only had a fun sense of humor, he had a strong desire to make his lady laugh. His wrinkled face held beautiful, twinkling blue eyes, and his hair had a sense of blond still through the gray. He was alive, thinking, and caring for someone else besides himself.
I learned a strong lesson about love and laughter and aging gracefully in that two minute exchange, and he doesn't even know it.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Turning another year over
June 28,2011 marked my 63rd birthday. Counting up to 63 is a reality check. Seems just a short time ago, I was lamenting about being 50. Then, it seems about six months it was 60, and now I'm practically kissing 65.
Turning another year over at this stage of life feels more serious than 60. Maybe it's the reality of knowing I'm rounding 3rd base on the playing field.
I hit a home run when I married my dear husband. I didn't think of my marriage as that at first. In fact, when I was 21, I didn't think much about what was ahead of me. I just knew I wanted to be married to Bill, have children, and that was that. Twenties and thirties flew by with childrearing. Turning forty, I was entering college for four years and then worked as a features writer for the local newspapers.
The fifties were changing to part time work at Marietta College admissions, and moving to a condo - to 'get ready for old age'.
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My 60th year was a kick in the butt that we were too young to sit in our recliners, so we planned a move back to a house and yard. Three years later, we have that, and it's great. Drey Place, as I've named our little house, is family-friendly and ready for any grandchild who wants to be here, at any time.
This picture of the Drey is the day the landscaping was being installed.
Anyway, I'm now into year 63. The growing-my-hair-gray project is almost complete, having started in December, 2010 to forgo any more coloring. This has been not as big a deal as I thought. In fact, I'm enjoying the freedom from costly hair salons and looking for that dreaded five week shadow in the edges, that kept appearing as regular as my old menstrual cycles.
Steeping into the thought of being a senior citizen for sure is evidenced by my social security check that should be coming to my checking account in a few weeks. I want to be a woman of depth, of wisdom, and love; not a dour, sour shadow lurking around town hereafter.
I haven't exactly decided how to shape these senior years, where to give my time, my money, and my energy. It is time to stop a little and think about a plan. I don't want to wander around, only to look up at 70, and haven't used the decade well, because, obviously, I don't have that many decades left to fritter away.
I think about other women I've known who are gone now, and how they finished up. My dear friend, Garnet Penrose, was a docent at the Castle into her 90's. We went to lunches, shopped together, were active girlfriends until a few months before her passing. I'd like to be like her.
She gave herself a 90th birthday party. She used to give little 4th of July parties, when she wore red, white, and blue, with a little derby hat for fun. And she did up Christmas to the nines. She celebrated. She wore pretty pink nail polish, and never was without her fun jewelry. She tucked in her shirt, and wore belts. (well, she was tall and thin, something I'm not, but you get the idea - she was cute, even at 90). She loved to listen to good music, from big band to classical, played it just for herself, on a Bose. She just lived well, even though her husband died some 35 years before. She didn't stop paying attention to her life, even though she lived alone. If that turns out to be the case for me, I hope I remember that.
I have many friends, and I'm grateful for each one. I need every friend, with their individual personalities that seem to match a special place in my heart that reaches toward them. Even though she's gone, Garnet holds her own special place in my heart, as all my loved ones do who have already gone. She was my girlfriend, a soulmate. I hope someone will say that about me someday, and forget that sometimes I can be a royal pain in the ass.
Turning another year over at this stage of life feels more serious than 60. Maybe it's the reality of knowing I'm rounding 3rd base on the playing field.
I hit a home run when I married my dear husband. I didn't think of my marriage as that at first. In fact, when I was 21, I didn't think much about what was ahead of me. I just knew I wanted to be married to Bill, have children, and that was that. Twenties and thirties flew by with childrearing. Turning forty, I was entering college for four years and then worked as a features writer for the local newspapers.
The fifties were changing to part time work at Marietta College admissions, and moving to a condo - to 'get ready for old age'.
This picture of the Drey is the day the landscaping was being installed.
Anyway, I'm now into year 63. The growing-my-hair-gray project is almost complete, having started in December, 2010 to forgo any more coloring. This has been not as big a deal as I thought. In fact, I'm enjoying the freedom from costly hair salons and looking for that dreaded five week shadow in the edges, that kept appearing as regular as my old menstrual cycles.
Steeping into the thought of being a senior citizen for sure is evidenced by my social security check that should be coming to my checking account in a few weeks. I want to be a woman of depth, of wisdom, and love; not a dour, sour shadow lurking around town hereafter.
I haven't exactly decided how to shape these senior years, where to give my time, my money, and my energy. It is time to stop a little and think about a plan. I don't want to wander around, only to look up at 70, and haven't used the decade well, because, obviously, I don't have that many decades left to fritter away.
I think about other women I've known who are gone now, and how they finished up. My dear friend, Garnet Penrose, was a docent at the Castle into her 90's. We went to lunches, shopped together, were active girlfriends until a few months before her passing. I'd like to be like her.
She gave herself a 90th birthday party. She used to give little 4th of July parties, when she wore red, white, and blue, with a little derby hat for fun. And she did up Christmas to the nines. She celebrated. She wore pretty pink nail polish, and never was without her fun jewelry. She tucked in her shirt, and wore belts. (well, she was tall and thin, something I'm not, but you get the idea - she was cute, even at 90). She loved to listen to good music, from big band to classical, played it just for herself, on a Bose. She just lived well, even though her husband died some 35 years before. She didn't stop paying attention to her life, even though she lived alone. If that turns out to be the case for me, I hope I remember that.
I have many friends, and I'm grateful for each one. I need every friend, with their individual personalities that seem to match a special place in my heart that reaches toward them. Even though she's gone, Garnet holds her own special place in my heart, as all my loved ones do who have already gone. She was my girlfriend, a soulmate. I hope someone will say that about me someday, and forget that sometimes I can be a royal pain in the ass.
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