|Sometime in the 1950s|
This weekend I'll mark the passage of yet another birthday. It's still hard to accept that I'm a widow, a grandmother, and I often qualify for senior discounts. I've never met a 120 year old woman, so it's impossible to reassure myself that I'm "middle-aged." No, I'm old. That's not a dirty word. Not everyone gets the blessing of this much time. There's a sobering consolation in knowing that I'm living in my bonus years.
I long ago learned the hard lesson that life can be cruel and punishing, yet also full of delightful surprises. When it comes right down to it, it's wonderful to be here still. Happy birthday to me.