Actually, the view looks pretty good from my perch up here on The Hil. You know. Up here in the Nose Bleed section. Considering the alternative, that is.
I know, I know. Soon I'll have to haul out the fire extinguisher to blow out the brithday candles. Those things are starting to cost more than the cake! Don't remind me. Every swing of my tennis racquest does that, thanks very much. And while I can't prove it, I suspect those tennis balls bounce faster and farter with each passing year. Always in the opposite direction, of course. At least that's what my feet say. Er... holler.
As for the cumulative effects of "Middle Age Gravity", well, some days I'm convinced that even my freckles are drooping.
I've also noticed that lopping five years off my age-o-meter works about as well as recalibrating the bathroom scale to avoid those 15 pesky pounds that keep hanging around.
Then there's that doggone mirror. Someone keeps chiseling lines all over it every time I look at it. Well, that mirror never was much of a friend anyway. These days I just ignore it. Ditto my eye glasses. I mean, I really don't need those specs. Except when I want to see.
"Hey, it's not all bad," I tell myself. "Compared to a Bristlecone Pine, I'm still a wet-behind-the-ears whipper snapper."
Try telling THAT to my 10 year-old. He knows everything. Just ask him. He'll tell you. His special area of expertise is how ancient and archaic I am!
I didn't mind so much until the other day when he pipes up with, "Hey Mom, did they have cars when you were a little girl?"
Just how old does that kid think I AM??!!
Not quite old enough to have reached full-blown senility I guess. I immediately shot back, "Yes we did. But we had to watch out for the dinosaurs."
I felt pretty smug about that witticism. For about a day. Then he asks, "What's a record album? How did you listen to anything without a CD player?"
I didn't even TRY explaining eight-track cassettes, black-and-white TV or carbon paper. He's still trying to figure out how anyone changed the channel without a remote, or made dinner sans a Microwave Du Jour menu.
Maturing. Mellowing. Growing old gracefully. Is it really all downhill from here?
King David put it this way: "So teach us to number our days, that we may present to Thee a heart of wisdom.
Job proclaimed, "Wisdom is with aged men, with long life is understanding."
Jesus said, "Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you;not as the world gives, do I give you. Let not your heart be troubled, not let it be fearful" and "... I go to prepare a place for you."
So why stress about the "Middle Age Curse"? Anyway you slice it, when the years pile up they equal Aging. We groan about it, joke about it, try to hide it. But we can't stop it. And why should we?
True, I can't quite say "29" anymore without a severe conscience pang. Actually, I can't even say "39" anymore without a sharp twinge. Well O.K., when I say "40," at least I'm in the ballpark!
Whatever age I'm celebrating, it helps me to remember that the same God who guided my footsteps Yesterday and orders them Today is going ahead of me, blazing a trail for my Tomorrow. He's planting sign posts along the way. They're called "birthdays." Each one reminds me that every new laugh line, gray hair, or drooping freckle means I'm another day closer to the Place He's preparing for me. One more marker closer to Home.
Somehow those candle costs don't seem quite so bad after all. And the view from my Hill is just great.
