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A PRAYER FOR THOSE GROWING OLDER

Lord, Thou knowest that I am growing older.

Keep me from becoming talkative and possessed with the idea that I must express myself on every subject.

Release me from the craving to straighten out everyone’s affairs.

Keep me from the recital of endless detail. Give me wings to get to the point.

Seal my lips when I am inclined to tell of my aches and pains; they are increasing with the years and my love to speak of them grows sweeter as time goes by.

Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be wrong.

Make me thoughtful but not nosy; helpful but not bossy.

With my vast store of wisdom and experiences it does seem a pity not to use it all. But Thou knowest, Lord, that I want a few friends at the end.

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Thanks for Stopping By! It means more than you know.

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Working on August’s Monthly Challenge, I am completing my Series “All the World is a Stage ~ and I am Aging Upon It”
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/08/01/going-serial-2/
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damn straight I keep score

I am not bitter or hysterical that it took me three hours to figure out how to transfer the photo stream from my phone to my computer. Oh no, this is such a thrill to see how many hoops my brain can jump through. Why yes, I did figure it out, and then the next day, realized how to do it in 5 minutes. But imagine all the incredibly new and springy brain cells I am creating? Hopefully, the cortisol I pumped during the three l o n g hours that I tried to figure it out on my own, did not destroy more memory and trigger other unhealthy brain chemicals. Just handing the phone over to my 17 year old is too easy as well as too demeaning. I am a grown up. I have fifty years of life experience, I should be able to figure out how to move my freaking photos!

For the last three days, I have been unable to pair my headset to my cell phone. I kept trying to press buttons and pair the device and search for the Bluetooth connection, etc. My 17 year old looked at and turned it off and restarted it. Now it works! Sometimes, we have had to adapt to so much technology and other life changes, that we lose sight of the simple and expect the complex. Isn’t that so true in many areas?

Maybe fifty is the age of the deep learning curve?

As I have gotten older, my skin has changed. It is more thin, more spotted, more sensitive, and hyper reactive. No thanks Mr. Grey, I am already fifty shades of black and blue. Besides, I do not need any more inflicted pain.

We are strong and forthright. When one of our own is down, we rally around her to help carry the load. My knees may buckle, pop, and click — But I have got your back when it is needed. We are a force to be reckoned with.

We are not willing to be false to ourselves or anyone else. We carry ourselves with dignity.

It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. At fifty, I don’t mourn the boyfriends and relationships along the way (although we all Google them for Heaven’s Sake). I mourn the ones that I have truly loved and lost, like my mother and grandparents. I have even lost a couple of college friends. It is heartbreaking to think how young their middle age really was.

I cry because it is my family legacy. I cry because hormones are rampant in women my age (see, isn’t that a great rationalization?!) I cry because I am highly sensitive.

Maybe fifty is the age of tolerance and expression?

In your 20’s, the indefatigable and adventurous will live forever and claim “You Only Live Once” as an excuse for doing crazy dangerous things. At 50, the oft repeated refrain is that “Life is Short.” It is not as catchy as YOLO but it is no less true. We have lived long enough to realize the fragility, beauty and mortality around us.

That’s my story and I am sticking to it.

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Thanks for stopping by! It means more than you know..

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Working on August’s Monthly Challenge, I am continuing my Series “All the World is a Stage ~ and I am Aging Upon It”
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/08/01/going-serial-2/
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so many candles so little cake

It is unrealistic to refer to myself as middle-aged. While there are centenarians, and more power to them, they are the exception and not the rule. However, at fifty the goal post of what counts as OLD keeps moving. Whatever age you are, if you are older than me, then you are old.

I am not just listening to “Oldies” because I am aged and crotchety. I am not trying to relive my youth. My memories are very clear about the good, bad and ugly of those years. However, it is my opinion that the best singers and songwriters came out of the 1970’s. Lyrics could be understood and instruments were not electrical switches on a board. So you will still hear me singing along with James Taylor and Carole King. Consider it an enjoyment of the music not an indication of my fossilized past.

Or, if it helps the rationalization, then we discuss those unfortunate things that happen to our outer selves after a certain age. I have arthritis in my hands, knees, feet, back and spine. We smile and demure that it just comes with age. Of course our hair is thinning, it is those meds the doctor makes us take. The doctor told my husband that he could have a head of hair or a healthy heart. These choices are not nearly as clear as chocolate or vanilla and definitely not as much fun.

Unfortunately, I have had to have many surgeries in my 30’s and 40’s. If they have taken out so many things, how come I just keep getting bigger?

Such are the mysteries I am discovering at fifty.

This is the stage where you go to the basement and cannot remember why you went down or what you came for. However, you can remember your favorite childhood toy, the name of the girl who pushed your head into the water fountain (yes, this really happened), and the phone numbers of the houses you used to live in. My husband can forget to buy milk, but he can remember the 12 digit number on the side of a half-inch screw.

Maybe fifty is the age of the long-term memory?
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Thanks for stopping by! It means more than you know.
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When it comes to a friend, give me a real woman of a certain age. That number is not fixed, but an age where you have acquired some wisdom and life experience. Some women learn the hard lessons early in life, and others need to spend more time learning, until they can stand on common ground.

A real woman is not afraid to be honest, straight forward and talk openly about the battle scars that she has earned along the way. Each battle has a story and memories behind it. Whether funny or sad, the scars add up, inside and out, and we keep going, adding even more than we ever thought possible.

A certain age is acquired because it takes time to see parents age, or a loved one pass. A certain age is required to remember what going to a library was like and holding real books in your hand. A woman of a certain age can discuss college, adolescent children, divorce, work, and trying to pay the bills. Women of a certain age can recognize songs from the last 40 years, or more, and remember where they were when they first enjoyed them. Women of a certain age are also not afraid to turn the music up, dance in the car and sing loudly to the radio. That is an age of confidence and reckless abandon, not years.

I have self doubts where once I had confidence. With each betrayal, or new anxiety, time has taught me not to trust as openly and fully as I once did, and replaced it with caution. We build our experiences without forgetting the old. We create a history and, if lucky, a life with someone willing to ride alongside.

Real women of a certain age are able to judge people on their own merits without having to Google them or follow their tweets. They have learned how to trust their intuition and assess a situation similar to one they have had in the past. Women of a certain age have a gage of comparison for human behavior in themselves and others. Real women are rarely at a loss for words. They have learned when it is safe to speak, or keep it to themselves, because they know no one is genuinely listening.

Real women are able to discuss things openly and recognize phoniness at ten paces. Their lives have not been perfect, but they buy their own groceries, work to pay the bills, and suffer through adolescence angst at least twice – once as a teenager and many more times as a mother.

The wonderful thing about real women is they can speak freely and have a great conversation. There is more than enough reality to go around, so you share your stories and remark on the common threads of experiences. We don’t want to have to look over your shoulder, or ours, to find an ulterior motive on the horizon or someone keeping score. We no longer have the patience for the espionage or efforts to tear us down. We have been where you are now, and already succeeded, and begun something new. Just because you want me to prove myself to you, does not mean I have to, because inside I know who I am. The body may be moving slower, but the brain projects even faster.

Real women of a certain age have grown up enough to realize that while things have not turned out the way they always wanted, or don’t look the way they used to, they are all they’ve got, and are survivors, in every way.

Real women have not let go; It is not merely a lack of caring. Rather, it is a searing, fresh desire and ability to communicate deeply about things that no one asked if we were ready to let go of, or cared deeply about, and so we form strong opinions. I wanted to let go of the weight, but the hair went instead. No one gave me a choice, but that is how it goes. I had to leave behind best friends, but gained real time with my family. I have worked long hours, traveled to different jobs, and won awards, but now my job is to help support my family’s financial needs. It may not look impressive in person, or on paper, but it is a priority and my motivation. Real women know that while it is not always appreciated, it is our task and goal to raise the children we bring into the world to the best of our ability. We acknowledge that while they may not have always been our finest moments, we have done the very best we could at the time. The hard choices have to be made, and no one else will accept the responsibility, so a real woman steps up.

For those of you who are younger than me, and are dismissive of my technical skills or count me as part of the invisible generation, remember I have already lived through what you are just contemplating or beginning. I was not born with a mouse in my hand. My learning curve has been steeper and steadier because I am of a certain age. I can communicate in cursive, write thank you notes, and lived through TV screens that went from bigger to smaller and back again. I have worked on manual typewriters, electric typewriters, switchboards, large computers that used Basic, to learning Word, Excel and iPhone apps. I have balanced books with manual ledger and written checks in QuickBooks. My waistline may keep expanding, but so does my mind and world of experience.

Real women don’t speak differently when talking to a man; they speak to every human being earnestly regardless of money, power, or gender. Real women don’t minimize who they are to maximize someone else’s ego. Intelligence and loyalty are to be respected and hard-earned in the ups and downs of daily existence. If there is an issue, let’s talk about it. If I have hurt you, or you have hurt me, we need to be honest about our actions, accountability and our apologies. Or, we could save a lot of time, and treat each other kinder and more compassionately from the beginning. We have all got bruises and keep pushing on. Anger and disappointment are real, revenge and back stabbing are not. Look me in the eye when I speak and don’t climb the ladder of acquisition on my back. Emotions and ego take place, but in a relationship with a real woman, of a certain age, you either choose to move forward or leave the toxic behind. You have better things to do and time is more precious. It is better and more meaningful to be true friends with a real woman, than acquaintances with a superficial one.

It is sobering to realize that I am now of a “certain age.” Turning 50, and acknowledging it, is like tearing off a Band-Aid. Whether you do it fast or slow, it is going to hurt! I keep thinking that the more times I say my age out loud, the more I will get used to it. But it is like the changing of the year, I will be writing the wrong numbers for months.

But I love a real woman who is honest, open, and able to laugh out loud. I respect the woman who has advice on raising adolescents and young adults because she has done it herself, yet realizes that her way is not the only way and recognizes the humor and irony in the process. It takes another grandmother to understand the crazy, boundless love you can have for a new member of the family tree. I appreciate the growing list of health issues, and meds to be taken, while still dreaming of a good margarita. Despite understanding that I might look better in Spanx, but would prefer to be barefoot and admiring my pedicure, is a beautiful thing. Acceptance through awareness and experience is what makes a real woman of a certain age a joy to behold ~~ and the best kind of friend to cultivate.

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Thank you for stopping by! It means more than you know.

Disclaimer: Not everything I write is about one person. I really do have a combination of experiences from life, adventures, and work history. Please don’t think it is all about you, good or bad.
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