Wednesday, March 16, 2011

I'm how old???

I know it’s hard to tell from my youthful appearance and attitude, but the big 5-0 is looming. Honestly, I don’t feel that old (most days, anyway.)

I do recall, though, in “firmer” days thinking that 50 year old people were just one precarious step from the brink. So, I wonder if today’s twenty- and thirty-somethings look at me and think, “Whoa, this one is ready for the ice flow!”

Up until a few weeks ago I really hadn’t given this whole age thing much play, but my brother-in-law (who will also be turning 50) had to open his big mouth. He made some comment about being on the down hill side of life. So, now every time I consider this birthday that little point nags at the back of my mind. Thanks a lot, Jeff!

The good news is his little comment has not instilled some desire in me to run and sow the few wild oats I have left. (At least I think there are a few buried in the bottom of my purse.) I have no desire for a sports car, or plastic surgery, or a baby. I don’t even have the desire to color my hair or add highlights. (Although, this whole neck skin thing really bugs the heck out of me.)

I think I’ll just settle for a little house on two acres in Georgia with my husband. I’ll paint walls. I’ll plant some flowers and maybe some vegetables. I’ll buy a little lawn tractor and a wagon to hitch to the back, so I can haul stuff around from place to place. I’ll build a garden where we can sit outside and just be.

And…there will be no chickens or llamas allowed!

You’ll visit, won’t you?

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Shattered (shoodooby)

In my “After the Storm” post, I made this statement: “One little incident can make a person ice-aphobic for life.”

Then, as I was wading through photos stored on our computer for the “Sisters” post (obviously, I didn’t find one that would be acceptable to all parties), I came across another photo from my past. This picture explains everything.

Now here’s the freaky part…

I found this picture on the 11th anniversary of the “incident”.
President’s Day.
Ice skating was involved.
19 weeks of recovery was involved.
How could it not make an impression?

This picture explains why I become a little old lady the moment I encounter an icy patch.
It explains why total strangers cringed when they looked at me.
It also explains why the boys in Anna’s second grade class were so intrigued with me. (I think little boys live for gore.)

We were living 3,000 miles from family.
No one knew the full extent of the injury until they saw this picture.
They saw this picture approximately 1 week after “it” came off.
This picture just about killed my mother, because if she had known, she would have been touching down in Oregon before I was even wheeled into surgery.

WARNING: If you are of faint heart or have a weak stomach…bail NOW!

At least my nails looked nice.
(Although, it totally freaked out the manicurist.)