Timeless

Soon thereafter, I welcomed a milestone birthday. Another medal. I’ve always had a difficult time giving birth to decades and these were epic.

I’m young enough to still hope and dream, and old enough to reflect on the reality of what is — and what will never be. My patience may sometimes wear thin; my waistline not. My driving is great — my walking is another story. Maturity isn’t an automatic mile-marker on life’s timeline, and graceful aging (an oxymoron) is a practiced art. Getting older doesn’t necessarily guarantee the wisdom of our words, nor our actions. Ever watch some of us drive?

When I’m in the car with the older grandchildren, if I’m behind the wheel, I, much to their chagrin, go at the speed of their age. When they’re behind the wheel, they drive closer to mine. That’s when silent prayer comes in handy.

Are we ever realistic about what we, physically and mentally, can and cannot do? I don’t really bake anymore — there’s a part missing from my mixer. (Just don’t tell anyone that the missing part is me.)