Homebodies - I lost a year!
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- Published on Sunday, February 22, 2015
By Rita Friesen
It has happened before, and it has happened again. I lost a year. The first time I lost track of time I locked my father into being 45. He stayed there, for me, three years. And then I caught on, and caught up. It didn’t seem a big deal. Forty-five is the mid-forties. Mid can be anywhere between 42 and 47. His physical features didn’t change much in that era and neither did his school pictures! He was teaching in the time when a suit and tie was the norm. He must have had a favourite tie, it appeared in several consecutive photos. Ageless and timeless.
I lost a year in my mid 30s. Times were busy: five children, farm wife, church commitments. It is not that I fear or regret growing older. Turning 50 was a hoot with the able and twisted help of close friends. Every over the hill aid presented with laughter, and a fluorescent sign just out of sight of my kitchen window: “Honk! Rita is 50!”
The year past has been filled with firsts and lasts. A pattern of every year. Some this year being a once in my lifetime thing. I am contented. Busy as I want to be. I thought that my next birthday would be my 68th. Did the math, 69. And then there are no 60s left! I shared my concern with a daughter. She laughed at me. With me. It was decided that, considering that I have not always acted in a conventional manner, I could be 60-10, 60-11...You get the picture. I like the idea. However, I would in all probability forget which 60-what I was!
The blessings of each day far outweigh the cares. Come summer there will be another great grandchild. One old adage states that if you want to know if you did a good job parenting, observe your grandchildren. Looking at the clan that calls me grandma, my beloved and I did a fair job parenting! The same is true for the next generation.
I am going to digress and recount a great grandchild tale. Our home is comfortable for the ageing. The taller toilets, grab bars. At Christmas, young Mark came and stood at my side. Waiting for my attention. He stood with furrowed brow and serious visage, just like his daddy, and then intoned, “Great gran, I have a problem.” Loved and beloved, what could mar your day? “When I sit in your toilet, I can’t reach the paper.” Taken by surprise, my reply? “Good thing grandma Susan was in there with you!”. Love them.
I shall embrace 69. Daily improving in outlook and inlook. Surrounded by caring family and friends, life is rich and so much more than enduring. Almost back to my “Bring it on!”. Not quite ready for that.
