I was probably in my thirties when I read an article in' Reader's Digest' that was written by a woman, uhhh...probably my age now. She wrote that she would look into the mirror and see an old woman who was unrecognizable to her soul, and of course, that woman was her. Although I don't see an old woman, I am old. I am imperfect. Lately I have been feeling like a cat with nine lives, and I could be on my ninth.
I still talk too much, but not nearly as much as I used to. I have learned, at least most of the time, (NOT last night) to keep my mouth shut when I want to rant and rave and change the world for MY better.
I have had babies who are now grown adults, one with her own babies, and one getting ready to embark on the union of partnering with his fiance for life. His fiance is a beautiful, strong woman, with spirit. How happy does that make me to know that she probably can handle my complicated son who is way too much like me!!! My three grandchildren call me Poppy instead of Grandma, (No, it wasn't planned. My Maya Moo named me when she could barely talk.) and yes, I love not being called "grandma". Don't ask me why, because I'll tell you.
So here I sit at my beloved, huge, old oak library table that serves us as a dining table, on a Saturday night. The desert is wonderful this time of year. The days are warm, and the nights are very cool. My doors are open and looking out of my french doors on the other end of my table, I see the lights on our trees outside that are there year 'round. Pandora is set on the Bonobo station (which my son turned me on to), the dogs arelying on the floor, exhausted after working with us in the yard, and I'm feeling good! Really good! Yep, it could be the vodka, but I don't think so. I tend to believe that it's because I have learned to, perhaps, appreciate and be grateful for the things that I have been blessed to have: namely relationships, home, and of course, love.
My husband is in the office doing what he does, no, don't ask, because I really don't know, probably just chilling, and I am grateful he is my life partner. We have been through a lot him and me, probably a whole 'nother blog. He has been so many roles to me: husband, lover, friend, and the list goes on. We have come to a place in our lives where we can live with one another's differences, at least, so it seems. I love him, I will always love him. How could I not? I have been with him longer than I haven't. It's not the hormonally charged love you feel when you're young and feelings are intense. It's the love you feel for a person who has been with you, very imperfectly, for so long that you have forgotten what it's like to be without them.
At 62 I don't compete with young, beautiful things that I think will steal my husband's attention away. Now I am more comfortable in my own skin than I have ever been. I have regrets, but I can look back on me and see a person that I never really knew when I was young and in her skin. Now I see her as just a girl, a young woman, who was who she was; wanting truth at any cost, always curious and restless, not ever wanting to settle for second best, and knowing exactly what she wanted, and when she wanted it. Whether it be good or bad, she counted the cost, and still does.
What I want these days is so much different from what I wanted when I was half this age, but yet, there are so many things that stay on my desire list. What I want comes to my consciousness each morning I wake; I want to be happy, I want to be present and not think about what coulda been, shoulda been, woulda been. So as I sit up in my bed that looks out at the beautiful mountain and red tile roofs ,and intentionally think "this is my life" it is good, it is perfect right now. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. It's the littlest things that break those idealistic thoughts: like on my way to work and someone does something really stupid and cuts me off, or goes too slowly in the left lane. So, I'm back to square one. I begin to miss the days when I would sit up until wee hours of the morning talking about the mysteries of life.
I ramble, yet again. It's such a beautiful Saturday night. I love my life; no, it's not perfect and no, it's not without anxiety, lost loves, some regrets and other things along that line. But I'm alive and I have lived a quality life where I have had to go down to the depths of my spirit to appreciate times like a quiet, uneventful, Saturday night. I have finally learned how to live without drama and it feels sooo good to be in my skin. It's a grace type of thing. You know what I mean!
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