Old Lady

In one hour and ten minutes it happens. The coach turns into a pumpkin. The horses revert to attic mice, and the extravagant ball gown becomes a sturdy, hard-working, everyday garment. 

In sixty minutes now... I turn 70. Me. The little girl who spent a good deal of time sitting on the rooftop of my chicken house, staring out into the blue skies, dreaming about the far away future and turning ... maybe 25... Never did I think I could be an old lady, let alone a solitary soul with no immediate family... The years and the loved ones felt inexhaustible, unlimited, infinite. But...   They are gone.

I spent too many summers between the dawn and twilight horizons of school years trying to improve, rebirth, revolutionize myself. I always tried, but I came up as the same old me. As recently as last fall, I was still at it... Now? She seems pretty much far away. 

I know many, many people beyond this imaginary Maginot Line of 70 years. They are vital, beautiful,  useful, happy and bold. But with only 56 minutes left, I feel ill, hollow, sad, and hesitant. 

My old favorite grandfather overheard some young farm hands calling him "the old man." The kids meant no disrespect. He was 69 and turning this same magical age in a few days. Not realizing or respecting his unsettled spirit, we plunked two candles on his cake. They were simple, green-lined wax, shaped like the numerals 7 and 0 ... My grandfather, just like his only granddaughter today,  struggled with arthritis... He made his way to the kitchen door to see those huge numbers lit and inviting him into our party of homemade ice cream, angel food cake, and Double-Cola. Sadly,  he turned his back on us and went into the living room. He quietly cried... and pretty much ruined the party... I say pretty much because -- it WAS home made ice cream churned by my dad-- and cake whipped up by my Gramma! I was able to convince Paw-paw to come back, and the crisis was gone... He lived about 20 years more...

In 42 minutes I'll sit here alone, missing my boy, transitioning my spirit into another decade... it's no big deal, they say. Most are amused and possibly disgusted with my drama. I do have loved ones bringing in a party tomorrow, and I've already been celebrated in a great way! 

I am sorry for this tom-foolery. I've always been a little overly dramatic! In 28 minutes I begin my 70th year. Okay. What happens next? I don't have a clue,  and I don't actually have any self-improvement plans in place. (Not that I couldn't use one!) 

My dearest mother left me in 2017. She would have turned 100 years old in 17 minutes... I remember that 40 was her big nemesis. At 10 I was oblivious to these self-imposed barriers to future bliss. My son was such a warrior to save my birthday after I could no longer spend it with Mom... he pulled out all the stops. What a jewel he was. How penniless of spirit I feel without that jewel. 

That woman reached out simply to touch the garment hem of Jesus...He healed her, body, soul, and spirit. I loved being a daughter, a mother, a granddaughter,  a child. I've never felt old until recently. Even though the instruction manual for life has no margin set for old age, I'm setting the dial for myself at 70, three minutes away. My grandfather used to hold out cupped hands and wave them in my face whenever I cried. "Boo-hoo! Cry a whole handful!" He could dish it out! It's time. Midnight is here. Thanks for listening!