I turn 56 on Friday. I distinctly remember asking my grandmother once how old she was, and she said, “I am 56. I am old.”
I believed her. I couldn’t imagine ever being that old. She worked as a cook in a restaurant…she was a fabulous cook. She sewed us dresses, cooked, cleaned, and never colored her hair, got a manicure or a pedicure, wore stylish clothes…or contemplated changing her life in any major way. She left my alcoholic grandfather, but never divorced him. By 56 the romance and adventure in life were behind her. She seemed, from my limited perspective, very happy and content with her life…and I hope she was. She died at 80, but I don’t recall thinking she looked or acted much different than she did at 56. Again…my perspective.
I loved her madly. She was Grandma. Period. Again…perspective.
At 56 I am much like my grandmother and hugely different. My children and family are the center of my universe, and I like it that way. They are my center and my tether to the world.
But…my hair is blond, I wear makeup, I have a closet full of stylish and beautiful clothes and shoes. I have a great job and good friends.
And I am not finished with adventure by any stretch of the imagination and perhaps at some point there will be romance as well.
I just finished my second horse riding lesson and I love it! I plan to continue with those because I feel really young and alive on a horse. I am taking it slowly, but gathering information to see if I might work a horse into my budget in the next couple of years. It’s something I have always wanted to do…so why not?
I think Grandma would be proud of me. She loved me as madly as I loved her. I think she would love that my 56 doesn’t look like her 56.
You really should see me on a horse! Nope. I am not finished with adventure and fun!