changes

Where there is a thankful spirit, there is joy.

Oh dear, what in the world?? My blog posts have played hide-and-go-seek these many months. Can't tell you how many times I've printed in all CAPS on my to do lists: BLOG, to no avail. Gah!!

I continue to write for Heart of Ohio Magazine. The kind folks there kept me on board. Check out our beautiful magazine! Better yet, treat yourself to a subscription!

This week I'll make a stab back here on the blog. It's spring break from my school job. I appreciate you readers who have asked or said you miss my posts.

The past year has been amazing, in good ways and hard. How can anyone know exactly how a big life move will play out? Living in the same city as half our family is wonderful, as imagined. And living more central to all the kids proves the move from Ohio to North Carolina was right. We've made trips to Florida and Virginia (kids and grandkids both directions) and of course spend time with the kids/grandkids here.



Thanksgiving weekend 2016



I LOVE the weather in North Carolina. Spring comes with the calendar, none of that snow in April nonsense! We have a lovely front porch, perfect for morning coffee and afternoon reading. Hot summers, yes, but in college I lived in tents at Girl Scout camps in Tennessee and Florida ... THAT was hot. We can take day trips to the Blue Ridge Parkway and breathe in the mountains. Spectacular.

What I didn't fully anticipate was the difficulty of adjusting to a large, new city (even though we'd visited Dan and Jenny here for eight years, I didn't really learn the city), where to shop, friends, church, routines, and well, just EVERYTHING changed. At our age it's just harder than when you're young or have kids around to light your fire.

I spent a few months seeking part-time jobs and finally landed one which began after Thanksgiving. That's what seems to have anchored me a bit. I'm a reading tutor in a public elementary school and while learning all the pieces of the job was a challenge, the stretching has been so, so good. I work with some amazing women who are passionate about helping kids read, write and understand better. I love being part of a little army of encouragers to some kids who need it.

We've had some houseguests throughout the year: friends and family stopping over on trips north or south. Fun!

If there's one thing I'd do differently as a wife/mother/woman, it would have been to keep up a career of some sort. Yes, God makes my way but I believe He has something more beyond mothering and grandmothering and at this age it was extremely hard to find a niche where I can use my gifts.

Our quiver continues to fill: grandchild #8 is due in June (Mark and Jill's fourth) and #9 in September (David and Chelsea's first)! I'm excited to have the summer off for a change of pace although I doubt the pace will slow down. And really? I don't want to slow down because at my age I may not get moving again!

So that's where I am. Bill is driving for Uber and he's amazing at it! He needs to keep a journal because he comes home with hilarious and interesting stories from the road.

 

Perhaps the best lessons the past year have come through the hardships. I've learned gratefulness in the very hardest things because that's when I stretch, grow, and lean more on God and His faithfulness.

 

Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is

God's will for you in Christ Jesus. 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

 

 

crazy, happy, hard

Here's what I've been doing: I'm spending the afternoon on our back porch, working on a magazine article. After our brutal winter, the sun and wind and daffodils under the pines are like heaven.

At this moment my life is crazy, happy and hard. So much has happened since Thanksgiving. And I thank HIM, the God of universe for all of it, hard as it is to walk with the hard stuff.

We learned that we get our tongue-in-cheek hope for another baby in 2015. (Four generations of us born in '5' years) And we get TWO, due five days apart in early June! I think they're both boys. We'll see when they come because neither mom is finding out her baby's gender. Love, love that!

Bills' mom Elizabeth, 98, had a nasty fall on Christmas day, another hospital visit on my birthday in early January, and entered Hospice care. We thought we'd lose her within weeks but she rallied and has had ups and downs since then but seems stable. It's an emotional and physical journey for those who love her and particularly Bill and his brother Bob, who visit her every day. Which goes to show, it is God who numbers our days. Not doctors, not hospice. I invite you to pray for Elizabeth's comfort and peace.

I've had a fun little part-time job for about 18 months ... I'm a mother's helper to a family with six children ages 3-17 and their mother Noelle homeschools every one of them. Some think I'm crazy, but my time there is a blessing to me, especially in the midst of Elizabeth's decline. In their home is life and love and NOISE and music (lots of piano) and laughter and I love it. It's a little trip back in time.

In February our oldest son, David, proposed to his girlfriend Chelsea. (last post) And since they live two hours apart and are just crazy about each other, it won't be a long engagement. In July we will trek to Florida for their wedding! The other boys' weddings were local, so this is different in many ways. Lots of texts, phone calls, questions and answers, and really, getting to know Chelsea better at a distance. I couldn't be more blessed by my daughters-in-love!

Our Michigan cabin is back on the market and we are talking more and more about moving south when the time seems right. It's been a decision long in the making and ya know how when you make a decision you just want to get on with it? I battle impatience and resting in God's timing. But faith is trusting God even when we don't see what we want, when we want it.

And that is what I pursue and rest in, day after day.

no more belts

I've embarked on a de-cluttering, down-sizing campaign in the house. Several friends have offered this advice: if you think there's ANY possibility of moving, start NOW to sort, toss, organize, de-clutter and toss some more. Because it will take a lot longer than you can imagine.

We're on year 25 in our house and poor Bill is on the receiving end of my rants to SIMPLIFY. What is it with men? He seems very lukewarm about the whole idea but I'm telling you, the massive overhaul of our stuff is going to take awhile.

I've made a list to break down areas of the house. Closets (many), garage, files, laundry shelf (I have a laundry closet, not a room), and the biggest junk-collectors of all, the BASEMENT and CRAWL SPACE. I don't care to ever have a basement again since it's just a convenient place to put stuff we don't use: furniture, books, sewing machines, toys to be passed on, camping equipment, my mother-in-law's treasures, and Christmas stuff. No lie, we could easily let go of 90% of the basement.

Being in charge of the house, I made a rule a few years ago. As each of the kids moved out permanently (ie, marriage and/or house), they had to take all their stuff: baseball cards, school and sports memorabilia, clothing, etc. It worked like a charm with the boys, but daughter isn't permanently settled yet. And does she have the STUFF!

Oh and a side project is now on the dining room table: organizing 30 years of photographs. Can you spell O-V-E-R-W-H-E-L-M-I-N-G???

In an effort to self-motivate, I'm tackling easy areas first. Yesterday was the back door closet. This morning was our closet. Over the last couple years, I've whittled my wardrobe down to a minimalist level and to tell you the truth, it's wonderful. How much clothing do I really need? Liberating!

I did discover something that reminded me of my age: belts. The middles of middle aged women thicken, they just do. And a belt on a thick waist, if you ask me, resembles a cord around a flour sack. I mean, what's the point of calling attention to my grandma waist? I birthed four children for crying out loud, so I accept it and move on.

So out go the belts. And the unused shoes and sweaters. And on goes my campaign to simplify! I give you permission to ask me how it's going!

getting there

God not only knows where he's taking you,

but he also knows how to get you there. 

- Roy Lessin

It's been a rough week.

Mark, Jill and six-month-old Lily moved over the weekend.

All the way to Virginia.

I feel that a piece of my heart went with them.

I don't know where or how to stuff the longing for them.

When our oldest, David, left for college,

someone told me that the depth of my pain

was evidence of my love for him.

No matter that he was ready and he'd thrive and love college,

I would miss him, terribly miss our close relationship.

Before I experienced children leaving,

 I categorized moms in two ways.

Either a mom was clingy and too protective, unwilling to let her children go,

or she was so sick of them that she helped them pack and pushed them out the door.

I don't think it's so neatly defined.

Because if a mother - or grandmother - spends years building relationships

with her children, incredible bonds are formed.

A tapestry of memories, inside jokes, favorite foods, late-night conversations,

first days of school, broken rules and broken hearts

are woven like fabric over the years.

And no matter what a mother tells herself,

a child's leaving feels like a ripping apart of that fabric.

She can't turn off her mom-ness as she would turn off the kitchen faucet.

It's very hard to come to terms with this new season of life.

And that is where faith comes in.

There's a quiet, secure assurance that God holds us.

He sees the whole picture of our lives

while we see only a small piece of it.

He has a purpose for wanting Mark and Jill in Virginia,

a purpose that only God, in all his wisdom and love, can know.

Though I miss them terribly,

to trust God is to rely on him more than self and how I feel.

Feelings are so unreliable, says Elisabeth Elliot, but this I know:

 I can absolutely trust God's heart

even when I don't see his hand.

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for

and certain of what we do not see.

Hebrews 11:1



with Lily, two days before the move





inside out

What's with this aging thing?

Inside, I feel like I'm still in my 20's or 30's, or even still a child.

I can still tap that kid who rode a bike to the dime store,

built a fort in the woods with my brother, or a snow tunnel in winter.

I can still feel the hot summer sun on my back while playing Monopoly

on a blanket in the yard with my best friend.

And didn't I just spend two glorious weeks at Girl Scout camp,

jumping into an icy Connecticut lake after breakfast

and - my favorite - doing crafts in the craft house?

I spent a year saving $25, half the cost of two weeks at camp.

My parents' rule was, I paid half, they paid half.



Off to camp, with little sister Anne

My college, newlywed, and young mother years are equally vivid.
Five years as "just us" before children.
The wonder of four babies' births and
the intense, stressful, but crazy fun of raising them for 25 years. 

But then someone says or does something that makes me realize those days are far behind me.

I work with a special little girl and sometimes accompany her and her mom to doctor's appointments. The doctor usually assumes I'm the grandmother, and I realize that I easily could be.

More and more, people hold the door for me at stores and treat me just a bit more, well,

as they would their grandma.

My 22-year-old daughter and I spread mulch the other day. She was way quicker than me.

And of course, my boys have been stronger than me for years. (But not smarter, I tell them.)

The kids are naturally more tech-savvy than me and have taught me most of what I know.

It's amazing to learn from them.

But then, our years, no, decades of living have taught us much about - living!

 For instance, being with my granddaughters stirs up all sorts of memories of what works with little ones. How to hold them, play with them, and soothe them.
Then there's meal planning and cooking without recipes, all second nature to me now.
And maybe most importantly, the years have taught me it's sometimes better to hold my tongue than to give an opinion. (Still learning that one.)
And how to read the face of a hurting friend.
And that I'm probably not going to accomplish anything overly amazing in this life.
And be ok with it.

So. Inside I could be ten or twenty. But outside I'm not.

It's a funny condundrum.

perspective



Bill's mom Elizabeth, 95, and Lily, 4 months



My grandparents were all born in the late 1800's.

My grandchildren and their children will likely live to see the 22nd century.

That's an amazing thought, that the lives of six generations who I've known

will span four different centuries.
That's all for today.
Four centuries. It's enough!

a road less traveled

Changes swirl all around me.
Changes in work and life. My body feels older.
Someone even changed the set-up on Blogger,
where I write these posts.
Oh, bother.

I was back in the yard again today, raking leaves,

weeding, and spotting signs of spring.

Like this robin's nest on our electric box.

Mama robin is most annoyed with me,
though I didn't touch, just raised my phone high enough for a photo.

It's safe to say that when life presses in,

I find solace out in my yard.
It's a good place to
'wrestle with things before God,"
as Oswald Chambers said.

And besides, digging in the dirt is very therapeutic.

In one month, our last child will be a college graduate.

Cause for celebration!

Yet I have a "what's next?" feeling creeping in.

No more spring and Christmas breaks.

Or gathering of The Piles of college stuff in August.
Or finding space for it in May.

Or loading up the mini-van.

Or wondering if no phone calls is a good thing, or bad.

Or getting to meet their college friends.

Or, and maybe this is the crux of it,

no more sense that we have CHILDREN-children, rather than young adult offspring.

As much as I wanted them to grow up when they were young,
now they have and I have a road of my own making.

We've worked ourselves out of our jobs as parents, I suppose.

I know, I know. That's the idea!

As each of the three boys graduated from college, there was

always one or two or three more behind who needed us.

But (and see Tuesday's post) this is really and truly the end of one season of life.

Call me sappy,
but I'm not sure how to travel this new road.

America's authors

A piece in American Profile caught my eye this weekend: American Authors. Twenty of our country's "most celebrated and influential writers" are summarized with a photo or illustration and brief bio.

Emily Dickinson wrote nearly 1,800 poems in her lifetime and she died at 56: my age now. Margaret Mitchell, author of Gone With the Wind lived to age 49. Jack London wrote The Call of the Wild at age 27 and died at 40, as did Edgar Allan Poe. Walt Whitman was 73 when he died, though he looks 103 in his photo. Life was harder on people, or authors anyway, in the 19th century. I'm thankful I didn't live then!

Not meaning to obsess over death. But - pardon the cliche - life is short. While God knows the number of my days, it's up to me to serve Him and pursue the passions and gifts He's chosen to give me. And - most challenging at times for me - use my time wisely.

Speaking of time: did you know that Mark Twain's autobiography was just published? He died in 1910 and Twain's will stated that his autobiography could not be published until 100 years after his death. My brother Pat shared this with me.

happy birthday, Pat!

(This post is part of an essay that ran in the Columbus Dispatch in May, 2007.)


Only the most precious of mothers adopts the children of an absent mother.

I know such a woman. And she has made it her business to know me. Her name is Pat. She lived across the street from us in Connecticut and befriended my mother, who was born and raised in the Deep South.

No matter to this Boston-bred Irish Catholic: Pat might not have fully understood the “foreigner” who arrived in small-town New England, but she embraced her.

In those days, our families lived on shoestrings, and Mom carpooled with Pat and her preschoolers to the grocery store each week. They were riotous outings lasting several hours, with fidgety toddlers wedged between grocery sacks in the back of our station wagon.

The two spoke on the phone daily as they washed breakfast dishes or folded a load of towels. They cackled hysterically over who-knows-what.

Sharing first days of kindergarten, child psychology and recipes, Mom and Pat forged a sisterly friendship - one that lasted 15 years, well past our family's move in 1971 to Tennessee.

But when my mother died eight years later, she couldn't have imagined the extent to which Pat would honor their friendship. She slid unobtrusively into the roles of mother, mentor and grandmother for my three siblings and me and the 11 grandchildren my mother would never know.

Pat wasted no time demonstrating her devotion: The morning of Mom’s death, she dropped what she was doing to make arrangements for her two high schoolers, tend unfinished household details and book a flight to Memphis. Once there, she comforted us in small but memorable ways, like helping my sister and me clean out mom's closet.

Through the years, postcards from “Gramma Pat” arrived in our mailbox as she lovingly related a travel adventure to my children. Boston Globe articles were carefully clipped and mailed as only a mother does -- articles often about the Red Sox because Pat and her husband John share a love of baseball with our son David.

Birthdays, Christmases, graduations, and even the occasion of a new driver’s license – Pat remembers them all. She and her husband John have attended both my sons' weddings.

I treasure the phone calls and notes in which Pat still encourages and guides me by sharing wisdom from her seasons as a mother and grandmother. Even with a sizable family of her own, she has taken on another. Pat has doubled her love-output for over 30 years.

For that, and for her, I am grateful. A very happy birthday today, Pat Power!

Pat, with me, my brother Mark and sister Anne, and Pat's husband John

at my son's wedding in 2009.

back to school

 

back to school -1993

Goodness, it seems the whole world is starting school today. Oh, how I remember! Fill out reams of forms quadruple times, pack lunches, get haircuts, meet the teachers ahead of time (wouldn't they see them for the next 180 days?) and ... SHOP FOR SCHOOL SUPPLIES. After several years of this maddening exercise with four children clutching their lists and hollering at me, I finally learned to take just one or two children at a time to Wal-mart.

Countless memories of the school years come flooding back as I hear other, younger moms celebrating/lamenting the start of school. My biggest challenge was the homework ... helping/encouraging/monitoring my four little students. Don't miss that.

For years I participated in Moms in Touch, praying with other moms for our kids, their teachers and schools, and for children who have no one to pray for them. A powerful experience.

Today my son Dan begins his fourth year teaching fourth grade. He's in a new school with new co-workers, new students and schedule. We helped him set up his bright and roomy classroom. I hope and pray he and his students have a fantastic year. But I'm thankful I don't have to help him with homework!

what we leave behind

Early this morning, I dragged from slumber thinking about ... garbage bags. And clutter. And Thoreau. You see, last week we moved my mother-in-love to an assisted living facility. Very nice place, I might add. "Nursing homes" are out and sleek new apartment-like "assisted living" places are in.

But Mom has quickly discovered, even though she left a big jumble of stuff behind, she must dispose of even more.

As I've spent a few days sorting and bagging and saving just a fraction of her accumulations, it is clear. There isn't one material thing on earth that will mean squat at the end of our lives.

As I read over these posts, I notice a common thread.   What my children, grandchildren and whoever's left will remember is who I was to them - for better or worse.

Did I take time to read stories with them? Laugh at their jokes and listen to their stories? Discuss God and the mysteries of life? Did I teach them to ride a bike, make a bag lunch, and how to fly a kite? Did we swim, hike, pray, visit the library, and catch fireflies on summer evenings? Did I take them to a funeral so they could learn how to comfort a hurting friend?  Did they see me hurt and feel and cry? Did I apologize when I lost my temper? Did I make our home a haven from the world? Did we play piano and sing together? Did I strive to treat them as well as I do my best friend?

If I was too busy for such things, then all the trinkets and heirlooms and even family photos won't amount to a hill of beans. In fact, they won't matter whether I did OR didn't invest in those I love.

And that's because the only thing we leave behind that really matters is ... you guessed it ... love.

simplify, SIMPLIFY!

"We spend the first half of life collecting everything we can get our hands on, then the second half trying to figure out how to give it all away."

From the novel Multiple Choice by Claire Cook.

Is this the most succinct, marvelously pertinent observation ever? Yes! It perfectly describes the quandary in which I find myself here in the middle of life.

As young adults, we must have the STUFF. The furniture. The kitchen appliances. The framed art and lamps. The nice coffee table, end tables, kitchen table, dining room table. The book-of-the-month, year and century club and our favorite magazines. Computers and TV's. And oh, toys, the endless river of toys for the kids. A ping-pong table would be fun. And skis, skates and sleds. A desk for everyone in the house.

And before we know it, we're buried in an avalanche of "must-haves," otherwise known as "didn't needs." 

What can I do without? Better, what can I pass on to someone who will really use it? I've made a few stabs at it, but the time is coming to seriously simplify my life.

I think I'll re-read Walden this summer. 

"Our life is frittered away by detail .... simplify, simplify."

Henry David Thoreau, Walden.

60 years

My parents joined their lives sixty years ago today: May 20, 1950.

They were thin and youthful, though my mom's father had warned her she was "waiting awfully late" to marry. (She was 24, my dad 25.)

My dad graduated from college and served in the Army.

My mother couldn't afford to complete college,

though she desperately wanted to.

She worked for a time at the "weather bureau" in Memphis, Tennessee.

She communicated by phone with the airport and newspapers.

My parents tried to make a go of farming because that was what my father knew and loved, but it didn't earn a decent living.

There are now four children, eleven grandchildren

and one great-grandchild from my parents' union.

Unfortunately, cancer took my mom

before even the first grandchild came along.

My dad remarried a lovely woman, Sally,

and they have been married for 28 years: almost the same

length of time my parents were married. 

Mom once told me that if she died first,

she hoped my dad could find happiness with someone else.

I think that was a wise thing for her to share:

it was as much about my siblings and me

as about my dad.
When I married Bill, my dad told me that marriage is never 50/50 effort.
Sometimes it ends up 90/10 or 60/40.
But the goal should be 100/100.
That said, there's a load of effort for those who make it 60 years.
And love. And commitment. And blessings.

Note: my maternal grandmother, second from the right in
this photo, was 52 years old at the time, three years younger than I am now! And holy cow, I just realized my dad's mother, left, was MY AGE.

time

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.

Ecclesiastes 3:1

My sons Dan (2) and David (3)

having lunch in 1987.

Uncle Dave, holding Ari,

and daddy Dan, 2010.

daughters ... and sons

It's been said that mothers lose their sons when they marry and/or move away. A sort of emotional detachment. I'm discovering that a successful life requires young men to assert their independence. Slaying dragons and all that.

But daughters? I hear that daughters tend to keep their emotional strands connected to their mothers.

While for years I reminded myself that my ultimate purpose in raising children is to release them into the world, the theory has proven much easier than the practice.

Darn it, my little old mom heart wasn't too crazy about letting my boys go, though I knew I must. And once they marry, or drive into the sunset for a career, or become a father, it seems only logical and proper that we cut the apron strings. How can a boy become a man with a hovering mother?

But daughters, at least my daughter, feel different. Katie is 20 now, not fully separated from me, but no longer dependent either. Her voice over the phone rings of growth, maturity, openness. Many of the teenage tensions have faded, giving way to a sweeter friendship between Katie and me. Sometimes our roles even seem to be reversing.

Letting those boys go: old hat by now. But I'm thankful to have a daughter who'll hang around my heart awhile. Until she finds her own dragons. 

there comes a time

It's no secret: my daughter and I struggled as she was growing up. Yelling (both of us). Screaming (both of us). Tears (ditto). From age three until oh, say 17 ... Katie and I loved each other but many days didn't much like each other.

I questioned my ability as a mother, despite my husband's support and encouragement to the contrary. I prayed for wisdom and grace. I came to the end of myself and trusted God to grow my child.

Now, the time has come. Katie has shed the tantrums, the willfulness, the screaming defiance. She has grown up. Well, almost. And maybe I have, too.

I think of good mothering like crock-pot cooking: you're not going to have a good pot roast if you wait until 5 p.m. to start. Start early, use the right ingredients, be patient.

And there will come a time ... maybe not a perfect time, but a new one of greater peace and friendship.

the rest of the story

It's been a wonderful whirlwind of honeymooners returning, more gift-opening, and packing up their stuff for the move to married-ness. More photos ...

At an out-of-towners shower just before the wedding, Jill opened this gift: a drawing by Jill at age 7 and sent to her Grandma. I love this photo!



Jenny and David hit the dance floor at the rehearsal dinner



Curly, Larry and Moe ... I mean, my three sons



Jill's wedding gift to Mark...










...and his to her...



special people: my sister Anne, son Dan and lifelong friend Pat



helping the groom get ready



magic trick? Just dad trying to fold his hanky ..



David figures out his little hanky thing, too..



my family who were able to join us: "Gramma" Pat, me, brother Mark, sister Anne and "Grandpa" John


two of my three gorgeous girls...



the doors of the church



after the honeymoon, the newlyweds finally have some cake




and pack off to life together...





It seems a little sad, but also very, very good.

walking the line ... making choices

Soggy sleepy bags, sweatshirts and boxers. Soggy towels. Lots of them. And now, a soggy spirit.

I've tried two or three times to write a post on my son Mark's wedding over the weekend. Nothing comes out quite right. So I'll start over.

Thursday night it rained on the bachelor camp-out. (see last post) Friday night our washer overflowed. (that might be the next post) I ended up with a mountain of wet towels, which my neighbor washed and dried on Saturday morning, the day of the wedding.

I'm pretty much a frustrated photographer without a camera, so the photos I did take are in the camera with the honeymooning couple. Very disheartening; if I can't see some photos pretty soon, I might wither away.

The wedding was glorious, the reception fun and festive. But as the groom's mother, and I say this with some authority since it's my second time around, I find myself on an emotional yo-yo. One moment I'm needed and wanted. The next moment, I may as well get lost, for all the help I provide. That's good, right? Then why doesn't it feel so good? See what I mean?

They need us, then they don't. Not unlike toddler days when a 3-year-old walks a tenuous line between dependence and independence. Our job is to figure out when to help out and when to let go. We walk the line, too.

Look at the tiny photo above ... it sort of represents my jumbled-up emotions right now. It's a beautiful, yet low-resolution photo of the newlyweds, taken off a friend's facebook page.

Mark and Jill's life together is just beginning, but I am standing way, way back. The memories are fresh and sweet but the biggest part of my job seems to be coming to a close.

It's really ok. I will remember the words of Elisabeth Elliot: emotions are so unreliable. Elliot also said, "Life requires countless 'little' deaths - occasions when we are given the chance to say no to self and yes to God." (Passion and Purity, page 73.)

That's what it comes down to: will I wallow in sentiment (all about me) or rejoice in Mark and Jill's happiness? (all about them)

Decision: I will focus on the blessing of gaining a new daughter and witnessing a new family being born!

you're fine

Have you heard it? There's a new expression that is unique to teens and 20-somethings. If I've gotten in someone's way or given them the wrong amount of money at the check-out ... something like that, I might say, "oh, I'm sorry."

And the young person quickly says, "oh, you're fine."

"Yes," I might think, "I AM fine, though you're much too young to determine whether or not I'm fine." Or I could take it as a condescending sort of comment, as in "you poor old woman: you can't see/count/understand, so I'll make you feel better by telling you you're fine."

But really. I don't think such things. In fact, being told I'm fine is rather comforting, like a verbal, sweet pat on the shoulder. And maybe it's good practice for being a poor old woman, or at least a grandma. I remember my mother saying she looked forward to growing old. Then she could do or say anything and others would accept her as just an eccentric old woman. (Being a young eccentric is harder to pull off.)

I for one think this "you're fine" trend is good news. It shows the young people can allow for mistakes, and we all make them.

And acknowledging imperfection is good as the young generation learns how to take care of us older people. For the boomers, that's very good news.

Happy (belated) Birthday, Beth!

Good friends don't forget each other's birthdays. But I did. My friend Beth, who lives in Florida (a fantastic place in January but beastly in July) turned -?- this week. She remembers my birthday, which isn't easy since it's right after New Years. And I missed hers. Darn!

She told me to either send her a funny belated card or feature her on my blog, so here goes. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BETH! And my sympathy to your dear mom, who birthed you in July in South Florida. whew!

I'm even including 'then' and 'now' photographs. (OK - I'm not, after spending an unsuccessful hour looking for the 'then' photo - trust me, we looked pretty good)

If we looked a lot better in 1982, blame it on our kids. She has two and I have four. These photos - which you will see when I find the old one - make it plain that full-time mothering will age you and cause your body parts to head south. And the hair! Beth and I are proud of our gray hair (see Proverbs 16:31) but wow, we look like a 'before' photo for a Clairol ad. Um, she's the one with more gray, btw. Come to think of it, maybe we aren't exactly proud of our hair, but we just don't care when others have a problem with it. (Read the book Going Gray by Anne Kreamer.)

That's ok. In this new season of life, we can catch up on our dozin' and even act silly if we want, without kids around, rolling their eyes. In fact, Beth and her husband will be visiting us in October. We probably will act silly . . . and the gray hair stays!