My grandfather died July 16, 1971. Tom and I were engaged at the time and I remember Tom talking about how Grandpa died so young. Young? Really? Grandpa died on his sixty-sixth birthday. Sixty-six sounded old to me. And Grandpa seemed old to me. So did Grandma.
To my way of thinking…my grandparents were always old.
But here I am…a grandmother to eight incredible young people. The oldest just got his driver’s license. His brother was in a golf tournament this past weekend and is talking about the high school golf team next year.
The other “Grands” are reading and writing and acting so mature I’m amazed by them. The youngest may not be reading much yet as he’s only two, but he is articulate and tall…making people think he may be older than he really is.
I wonder if my grandchildren think of me as old. Probably. But they are too considerate to say it to my face.
There were so many things I wanted to do before I got old. Some of them I’ve completed…like hiking and skiing and writing a book. I’ve travelled and lived in wonderful places. I have friends literally all over the world. I think I’ve made a difference…mostly for the good…sometimes not so much.
I look around me and realize I’m not old at all. I know so many more people who are much older than I am at this point in time. They’re active and fun. Yes, we’re all getting those gray hairs, and I’ll confess…sometimes I call it a late night if I stay up after the news.
Actually, I am merely getting older…not old. I think there’s a lot left for me to do. More books to write; more adventures ahead. And I still want to learn to play the piano.
I have time. I think I’ll take a little snooze. After all, I won’t be sixty-six until…uh…tomorrow.
Yep. This time last year I celebrated my birthday in Kosovo with a wonderful group of people. We got dressed up and went to a fancy restaurant. My hair was blond. Don’t ask. [If You Want to Visit My Birthday Celebration in Kosovo, Click Here]
This year my hair is returning to its normal color with its natural glistening highlights of gray. My family is gathering at my house for dinner. I decided if the weather is warm we’ll have a cookout. If it’s cold and rainy I may make chicken and dumplings. It isn’t the food that’s important. It’s the people.
Like birthdays. The year doesn’t matter. It’s the people you share those moments with that are important.
I’ve never been one to hide my age. It’s just a number. I want my time here to count for something. I want to always enjoy my family and friends. Despite their ages…or mine. And I want God to look at me and say, “A life well lived.”
So since I’m crafting this post before the big day marking the completion of another trip around the sun, I think I’ll dig out the music and make another attempt at playing the piano.
As for you? Take a walk. Hold someone’s hand. Enjoy the season. And if you want to read a book…may I recommend Libby’s Cuppa Joe? (Like the way I worked that in? It's Available On AMAZON)