The Perfect Age

Bette Davis once said, “Old age ain’t no place for sissies.”

I awoke in the middle of the night recently, and as happens in the wee hours, odd things pop into your head. I could not remember how old I was, and I hadn’t the capacity at that hour to subtract the years in my head. So I counted on my fingers: 1951 to 61 to 71, etc. When I realized I was going to be sixty this year it shocked me! “Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what the heck happened,” said Cora Harvey Armstrong. Boy ain’t it the truth.

I don’t feel as if I’ve been around long enough to claim sixty years of experience. Age is a relative thing, isn’t it? In your teens, you think someone in their thirties is old. By the time you’re twenty, forty or fifty seems old. At fifty, seventy still seems young. Coming up on sixty, I look at eighty-somethings and see the youth still in them.

I do not think of myself as old. How could I? I am only sixty. There is a place card on my dresser that states, “Each age has its own special joys and experiences. I am always the perfect age for where I am in life.” This is so true. I hear people say they wish they were twenty again, or forty, or any age than what they are. There is no age I would go back to; each stage of my life has brought me new awareness and new rewards.

I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for fewer gray hairs or a flatter belly. Old age is a gift. I am becoming the person I have always wanted to be. As I’ve aged I’ve become more kind to myself and less critical. I’ve learned to forgive myself for my failings, and learn from my mistakes. I have lived long enough to have my hair turn gray and to have my laughter forever etched into the lines on my face. And although I fight against those signs of aging, I am blessed. So many have never laughed and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.

I sometimes despair over my body; the wrinkles, the sagging butt and the extra pounds. But I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body and dive into the waves with joy, despite the disapproving glances from the bikini set. They will get old too if they are lucky.

I like being older. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I will not spend my time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what might be. I will try to find the joy in each day, the freedom to be had in each passing year. As I once read, “Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, champagne in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming ‘Woohoo, what a ride!”

A Breath of Spring

A heartfelt thank you to those of you who sent cards and emails to cheer me out of my winter blahs a couple weeks ago. I especially want to thank my very good friend, Juliet, for the “sunshine from Minnesota” bouquet she sent.

Two weeks ago we were experiencing a frigidly cold spell with single digit temperatures. One day that week I had been out most of the day and when I came home there was a box propped up by my garage door. On it was 1-800-FLOWERS and I was quite confused as to why I would be getting flowers when it wasn’t my birthday, or Valentine’s Day (yet), or any other special occasion I could think of. I took the box in and opened a bouquet of dead flowers. I don’t know how long UPS left it outside, but the poor flowers had frozen.

So I called 1-800-FLOWERS and explained what had happened. They were most solicitous and offered to send another bouquet the next day. No, I said, no one will be here, send them on Wednesday. Of course, they could do that, no problem. I got home on Tuesday and sure enough, there sat another box of flowers in the snow.

Evidently UPS had made their delivery only a little while before the box was found, and I now have a beautiful arrangement of alstroemeria, or Peruvian lilies as they are sometimes called. As unlikely as it seemed, I put the first dead-looking bunch in water and several of those “came back to life,” so I have a large vase and a small vase of springtime. Thank you my friend, it was just what I needed.

I did manage to renew my spirit a bit more with a trip to the Botanical Gardens in Buffalo with my very Significant Other on Valentine’s weekend. We were regulars at the Como Conservatory in St. Paul, but this was our first visit to the Buffalo gardens. What a breath of fresh air!

From the tropical rainforest to the desert cacti, from the Florida Everglades to a Victorian ivy garden, the Botanical Gardens have it all. There is a room devoted to orchids, but they adorn almost every room in some way. As I was strolling along I got a whiff of chocolate in the air and I thought how quaint for Valentine’s weekend, they’ve got chocolate somewhere. Turns out, the aroma was coming from the chocolate orchid (oncidium sharry baby). Oh what a sensory delight! If they weren’t so difficult to grow I’d have a house full of those luscious calorie free blossoms.

Finding topiaries of dinosaurs and alligators in several rooms was a delightful surprise, but you must look closely since their camouflage is close to perfect. The amaryllis show is just winding up, with only this weekend to go, and sadly many of those tall stately flowers were wilting or stalks had fallen over from the sheer weight of the multiple flowers it held.

The gardens are only an hour or so away, so next time I get into a winter funk, I’ll pack up and drive to the tropics; unless of course the roads are impassable with ice and snow and blowing wind. Ah, winter, gotta love it. Think Spring everybody.

What’s Love Got To Do With It

Tina Turner posed the question. What’s love got to do with it? Love is a second hand emotion, brought on by physical response, so the song would have us believe. Oh Tina, there is so much more to do with it.

Do you love someone? Why? Just because is the best answer I can think of. Love does not have a reason, it just is. Maybe it started with a physical response, but that certainly doesn’t last. Love has no strings attached. Love does not demand you be or act a certain way. True love is freely given without expectation.

I’m not prone to quoting Scripture, but the best description of love I know is in I Corinthians 13. Translations differ between versions of the Bible, but they mean the same thing. Love is patience and kindness. Patience does not come easily to some people, or as the adage goes, “Lord give me patience, but give it to me NOW.” Practice patience with those you love. Kindness will follow. Loving someone is a quiet, private thing – not a selfish me, me, me attitude. Love is not jealous or boastful, proud or rude. Love is about the one you love, not about you. Loving someone should be done without keeping a record of wrong doings. It isn’t a competition of how many things you did or did not do for each other.

Love rejoices in the successes and accomplishments of the one you love. Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes and always perseveres. Three things will last forever, the passage says; faith, hope and love, and the greatest of these is love.

Just think what we could do if the entire population of the world knew love. Prejudices of color, race, sexual preference, religion, and nationality would end. Abuse and slavery would end. Hunger and deprivation would no longer be tolerated. Petty squabbles and wars would cease to exist. I am pretty sure this isn’t going to happen in my lifetime, but I keep on trying to spread the love around where I can.

What's love got to do with it, Tina? Everything.

Every Silver Lining has Its Cloud

I am depressed; in a blue funk; melancholy; down in the dumps. I am tired of cloudy days. I look out my window and I see white snow and gray skies. I can see Lake Erie from my window, and even it is now frozen over in striated shades of white and gray. The world is awash in shades of gray. It’s depressing. I want it to go away.

A tiny bit of research assured me that I am not imaging that we live in the cloudiest place in America. Cleveland, Ohio is near the top the list of the cloudiest cities with two hundred ninety nine days with cloud cover of some sort. Buffalo comes in with three hundred eleven days of cloudiness. Being nestled in between these cities on the lake, we are bound to have just as many dismal days. A mere fifty four days of total sunshine grace our area each year! No wonder I’m depressed! How do we live like this?

Unsurprisingly, Phoenix is the sunniest place around. Unfortunately it isn’t around here. The closest “sunny” city to us is Oklahoma City, and folks I want to tell you, that’s over twelve hundred miles away. I am in serious need of some sunshine. I don’t even care if it’s cold and snowy; I just want some blue sky and sun.

I am not fortunate enough to be able to go to Florida or Arizona or some other sunny, warm clime in the dead of winter. I am stuck here in the white-washed world of western New York. So it becomes necessary to play mind games, trying to convince myself that it isn’t as bad as it seems. Before the lake froze over I could look out and see strips of blue and I reveled in the aliveness of it. It was a touch of intense color in an otherwise dull world. Now, in the depths of winter, I look out and try to imagine the world as one big silver cloud. I peer up and imagine a damask tablecloth with flat weaves of tree branches on it and I gaze at the stand of evergreen trees covered in snow as if they were gowns all dressed up with silver glitter. Every cloud has a silver lining they say. My world is all silver for the moment.

I really do try to appreciate each season for what it brings, but this white world we live in is feeling a bit like a padded cell right about now. Did Punxsutawney Phil see his shadow this week? I’m in dire need of spring.