It’s Friday morning and I am standing at my desk at work. Ah, yes, the standing desk for a woman who can’t think on her feet. Proof that God has a sense of humor and she isn’t afraid to use it.
My phone boop-boops. I lean over, snag a look and see a notification that my favorite blogger/ You Tuber has posted.
“Yay! Content for my evening Elliptical jaunt,” I think and return to my work. As it turns out, Handsome Supportive Husband and I opt for an afternoon walk in the sunshine, so the Elliptical will have to wait until tomorrow.
When I see a post from my favorite blogger and You Tuber, Angie of HotandFlashy50, one of only 3 blogs to which I am subscribed, I feel happy. Frankly, a little thrill runs through me. She has created her ideal job and she’s having the time of her life. Although she is easy on the eyes, and devoted to thorough product research, it’s her childlike enthusiasm and generosity of spirit that keeps me coming back. Me and a million other followers, I might add.
It’s difficult to articulate what Angie’s posts mean to me. She reminds me that if I want to feel pretty, that’s my prerogative. I can do it for myself, you know? Men become distinguished. But I think we women sometimes kind of feel like we’re getting ex-tinguished by society, by media images and attitudes. If we’re past child-bearing age, our value is diminished? I’m asking for a friend. This isn’t news. And its not going to get solved here in this post tonight. But it is confusing and decidedly not fun. That’s why its so gratifying to spend a little ‘me time’ with Angie. She wants to feel pretty because she wants to feel pretty, because its fun. It is delightful to put societal limitations aside and do what you want to do and feel the way you want to feel.
This may seem like an odd mixture of topics, but they all have one thing in common.
I was introduced to the poetry blog when the founder liked one of my early posts. When I began posting in 2016, my blog was a place to put my grief. Although a mourning blog was not my conscious intent, the content of my posts said different. The creator of the poetry blog had an earlier blog called The Skeptic’s Kaddish for the Atheist, in which he observed in poems and essays an eleven month mourning for his father.
We step into old age..er…older age and simultaneously lose the people who made us, who love us and value us beyond measure.
One night I was surfing online, looking for inspiration to let loose and become a silver fox. Translation: gazing at boards of photos of women with beautiful gray hair. A stunning face with long lush gray hair stood out among the other beauties and I followed the link…back to the blog ‘Ageist’. In this blog, I find encouragement. Stories about interesting people over 50 doing wild and exciting things? Sign me up.
“Ow,” says Handsome Supportive Husband, laying suddenly still after he’s just scampered and shimmied under the covered bed of his pick-up truck to retrieve the wrench for the chainsaw.
He’s been hauling brush for 5 hours in the cold March rain.
“What?! What’s wrong?” I ask, not one to under-react. “Are you okay?!”
He lets a moment pass.
“I’m old,” he replies with a pained but charming grin and then we both burst out laughing.
When we were young, we threw our bodies and I mean threw our bodies at whatever had to be done. Clearing land, building our house, renovating our business spaces, roofing my parents’ home, gardening, all manner of repairs and maintenance, we were johnny – (and side-kick) -on- the -spot.
And we still are, except now our bodies talk to us. Work becomes sort of an open and ongoing negotiation with our corporeal selves.
I want the same things I’ve always wanted. I’m happier and more passionate with every day that passes. Aging is a strange, strange land.