It is never too late....a tale of skiing through age.

middle-life past

Next Sunday is my forty-ninth birthday, past middle age according to actuarial tables. What does forty-nine look like? Me, I suspect. What does forty nine feel like? Some days like twenty-one and some days like eighty-one.

Weight Watchers:

Lately I have been doing a middle-age make-over and have been attending weight watchers meetings with Lynda and Karen. Bonita has been participating, sans meetings (which means, at home). Karen has lost twenty pounds, Bonita has lost twenty pounds, Lynda has lost nearly ten pounds and I have lost, five.

About graying hair:

Both mom and dad went gray late in life, in fact, my mother is in her seventies and still has most of her light brown hair. Her gray occurred in two streaks on either side of her face before beginning to color in all over her head. Her eyes are pale blue and she looks as if she is going blonde. Dad, of course, died seven years ago and still had a good swatch of dark hair (what hair he had). I have cut mine short and refuse to color it anymore, it is streaked with gray and will grow out that way.

SEX: 

My eighteen year old son recently made the comment that nursing homes are full of sex. That old men in nursing home are "players" and are "getting it" all the time. Where he gets his information is anyone's guess.

"Life in Lubbock, Texas taught me two things: One is that God loves you and you are going to burn in hell. The other is that sex is the most awful, filthy thing on earth and you should save it for someone you love." Butch Hancock

a season

Across the hall is the sound of Elliot "talking" (ooh-ah, oh and then something that sounds like the cat's craw), and next door to that little voice is the deeper voice of his uncle Dylan talking on-line with one of his friends, another deep young man's voice coming through the computer screen, which echoes through the rooms, down the hall. While here in my room, the cat and I lay on the bed. We are settling in.

This afternoon Natalie knocked softly on my door, "You sleeping?"..."Unh" was my reply as I lazily opened my eyes, trying for some rest before a night of work. "Well, I just wanted to show you this shirt a friend of mine made for Elliot.".."Mm, hmm?"..and I motioned with my hand, not unlike the pope, the intent being, "Bring it over" but left unsaid and so she cautiosly, quietly walked across the room and held Elliot in front of me, "Niice" I said, putting out my hand, touching the images on the shirt, "silk screened?" Ummm...she didn't know. It was. That was okay. Then she was gone. It is good to have a multi-generational household. It is good for now. It is a season. It works.

Tonight I am off-on-call which is fine because tomorrow, at another hospital, there is an eight hour training class and today was my first 'Runner's Group'. We went a mile. We learned proper form. We talked and high-fived at the end. We are women, mother's, ranging in age from 23 to well, me.

The art of learning to pace oneself is essential. Perhaps in running. Perhaps in life. Especially these days as the shadows grow longer and the feeling of winter begins.