I have been thinking about this for a while and today especially.
You know some days I FEEL old. My body has been abused more than it should be for my age. I have pain and sometimes it curtails what I can do.
So I guess in that area I feel old.
Oh sometimes when I hear a song on the oldies station it jars me a bit, but then I giggle and sing along. Oh I shake my head at much of what the younger people do and think and believe ( I think every generation does). I think that young women have no modesty… I think young men should pull up their pants. Still those are my opinions and I think I would have thought the same way when I was a young woman. I remember being about 15 when a mini skirt phase hit and we couldn’t wear them to school let alone shorts… and flip flops or thongs. Mr. Presswood or Mr. Underwood would have met you at the door!
I guess all the things that make others feel old I just laugh off.
I honestly don’t mind aging. (other than the pain) I am posting a picture of me taken tonight after my bath. My face was washed with plain old dove, my face hasn’t seem makeup in I don’t remember when. My hair hasn’t been colored in years.
I DO kinda look like a crazed serial killer though…
You see… my husband came to me and he said… you were the wife of my youth. I want to grow old with you, I want to see the gray in your hair that matches mine. I think the gray in his hair… when he isn’t bald… is wonderful! I love the gray in his beard. He is mine and I am his. We met at 13… so we have seen it all together. We decided we would see wrinkles together… I know in the wedding vows you say… in sickness and in health… but they never say in gray hair and wrinkles, in sagging butts and boobs.
We spend so much time and energy fighting time. Fighting getting older when we should be thankful for the years that we get to love our families, the time to rock our grandbabies.
My whole world rest in the black eyes of a 2.5 year boy. To him I am wonderful, he asks for me, he runs straight to me, we are best buddies. I promise you that he does not care what I look like. He just knows I am his Mati.
To God, I am his beloved daughter, and I promise you… he doesn’t care what I look like.
I guess my point is, that to me, I just am ok when a little lotion on my dry face and a little chapstick on my lips as I run out the door to go with my beloved somewhere.
I just BE.