Pushing 70

I think he started saying it when he was 70 years old.  That was 25 years ago.


Each year, the day after my daddy's birthday, he would tell us that he was pushing the next number.  He had been  "pushing" 88 for nine moths when he died on September 16, 2009.   He was happy to be his age, it's just something he did.


Earlier this week I celebrated my 69th birthday.


As that day was fast approaching I began to think about being 69.  One thing just kept coming back to my thoughts - my maternal grandmother died when she was 69.


She seemed much older then than I do now.


I'm also healthier.


But still - she was 69 and a half years old.


My mother was 48 when she lost her mother.  All of my siblings and I are way beyond that. We feel fortunate that we still have our sweet and feisty mother.  She prefers sweet.


As we shared my birthday lunch, I began to lament  the fact that I am now 69 - that if daddy were here he would tell me that I'm pushing 70.


Mother interrupted,


"And your mother is 93".


I started to rethink my attitude. My daddy's mother lived to be 90; my mother's daddy lived to be 97 and like she said "my mother is 93".


Hum.


And then there were the words of my youngest granddaughter, a  radiant 8 year old.

"Grandma you look really good for your age!"

Hum.


For a long time I was 60+.  That really has to now be 70-.


I thought about what has happened to me in my sixties -- I've had a slew of part time jobs where I've made wonderful friends,  Four grandchildren were added to our family (remember that three came in one fell swoop).  I became a published writer and figured out the best way to care for our mother through connections I had because of one of those part time jobs.


So what's next?


Read more, exercise more, learn more, play more, love more


Oh and of course - Write more - which of course - I hope you will read - And until the next time my words hit your screen,

May your life be filled with enough sunshine
to make you appreciate the shadows!