Not a Cheese

I am getting old(er) and this is how I know: my mind and body are a-changin'. For instance, my food is out of focus. I sit at the dining room table and look down at my plate only to discover that I can’t quite see what I am eating unless I wear my reading glasses on the tip of my nose. I do a gazillion stomach crunches (give or take a gabillion), and put to use those Pilates moves I learned from my Denise Austin DVD and yet I still have a pooch. I forget everyday words like “paper towel,” “wallet,” “lemon pepper,” and “Angelina Jolie” in the middle of sentences and have to close my eyes to visualize the word I’m in need of. When I “see” it in my head, then I can say it and continue on with my thought. (Annoying to me, somewhat entertaining to my kids.)

There are other clues that I’m creeping up there in age, I am more serious about eating healthy, yet I don’t feel the drive to fit into skinny jeans that have that cutting-off-your-circulation-look. There are more important things to aspire to. Also, I feel bad if I kill a spider or squash a bug. I do my best nowadays to scoop up the critter and set it free outside. Usually, that is. I get teary-eyed when I sing hymns because I know better as I mature that God is for me so no one or nothing can be against me and I'm so grateful. A bad hair day now is what it is, but it doesn’t really affect my day. Perhaps I’m just used to it after all these years. Sigh.

I’m creeping up to age 46. I may be getting old(er), but I really don’t care that much. I choose to smile about it although such an act will certainly add to my laugh lines. And I plan on seeing any future glass of prune juice as half-full.

“Age is something that doesn’t matter, unless you are a cheese.” -Billie Burke (a.k.a. Glenda the Good Witch from The Wizard of Oz)