It’s been nearly 11 weeks since the infamous hamstring tear. I’m now able to walk straight without crutches assisting me, only have one PT session left and can sit for almost 30 minutes without whining — giving birth was less painful.  All the sofa time, following that 62^nd birthday incident, had me thinking about aging and grey hair…

• Before I became housebound, I did notice that some things do age gracefully, like the trees in the park, their wrinkles look so natural…
  

  Wrinkles look good on trees…

• My mom at 62 told me she felt like she was still in her 20’s but her body, unfortunately, didn’t hang in there with her. She left us at 63. It seems strange that I’m nearly her age and like her, my mind is still in my 20’s, as indicated by risking life and limb playing Frisbee…
• Thinking like I’m in my 20’s and the free-thinking that goes with that, I thought letting my hair color go to its natural state would be liberating, plus think of all the money I’d be saving! Since my dad handed down great genes as witnessed by my sisters, none of whom really ‘look’ their age, I thought what could it hurt? As time went on, the grow-out was not the beautiful white like my sisters, or a stunning salt and pepper like some friends – no, it was more like the grey of a battleship. So with the help of my hair dresser we added a few highlights to perk up the front.
• Even with her help I encountered a few who unwittingly objected to the color change… While checking out at the Post Office the clerk asked for my ID. She commented, “Your hair WAS so cute.”  I’m taking that she liked my cut – not the fact that it was a warm brunette a few years ago?  Then there was the attendant at the car dealer who handed back my ID and said she needed MY ID – not my daughters.  Lord help me – dying my hair back to brunette may certainly be in the near future…
• I started becoming nostalgic, as I switched sides of the sofa during my confinement. Like with the birth of everything Amazon…I miss taking the time to drive to a store, walk through the aisles, get my creative mojo going and touch items before I purchase. Now we sofa surf, click buy and thank Pay Pal so we don’t have to remember our credit card numbers. Putting everything on automatic reorder will keep us from remembering anything, ever…
• When I recently left the house for a big day trip to launder our duvet, I noticed how it’s the small things that are starting to excite me. While making change for a $20 the coins fell out of the machine and made the sound of a Vegas slot machine and I started cheering – OMG…
• I just filled out a survey for the insurance company regarding the PT for my hammy and was asked how I rated my mental health; I checked 10 for great! The next question had me check off my age in the ranges 52-56, 57-61, 62-66. I checked the wrong range, so much for that 10 for mental health…
• Why after ‘this’ birthday have I started receiving mail on mortuaries or cemeteries and estate planning? Did this age trigger an alert that my expiration date is near?
• Being sidelined with the TV or iPad in front of me started me thinking back to a time when we didn’t know everything, about everyone, and how long they’ve done it and with whom and the explanation of why. I liked it back then… I really did. Can we go back to the “good old days”?

I’m heading into my 63^rd year with a stronger hamstring, my enhanced grey hair, and that attitude of a 20 year old.  After experiencing 11 weeks of retrospection my new mantra is:

“Today I will be happier

than a bird

with a French Fry”

And I will be….

Grateful for you,

Sheree