Well, yes, I was a few months old when this photo was taken. I remember the cloverleaf table I'm sitting on. I remember, during World War II, saving bacon drippings in a jar that sat on the stove Why? We were told it was needed for the war effort.
I remember being in elementary school and listening to General MacArthur's "Old Soldiers Never Die" speech on the radio.
I was in Atlanta and South Florida in the 70s doing civil rights work. It was scary, but we thought we were invincible.
My life has been filled with adventure. Much of it brings good memories, especially my big family that continues to expand.
Eleven years ago, on my 75th birthday, I wrote a blog posting very similar to this one. I said I was the happiest I've ever been.
That is no longer true. While I'm reasonably content and still living a full life, I have suffered loss. Loss of those very close to me, loss of my ability to travel and attend big venues, especially church. My life has narrowed All of my middle-aged children, and other family members, have experienced their own losses, some small and some huge. It's my choice to live in that space with them, as best I can. And, of course, the flip side is that I get to share in their triumphs as well.
My friends, who truly keep me centered and sane, are fading. Some are gone. Some are still, like me, on the journey. They, along with a few family members, provide me with, among other things, intellectual stimulation which I require on a daily basis to stay happy.
Loss is the price we pay for living a very long life. Along with it, if we're not cognitively impaired, we can model the way we believe oldies should behave and how we should be treated. When my doctor's assistant calls me "young lady," a demeaning title for an old woman, I can't let that slide.
My faith is strong, my sense of humor is in tact, and I still have miles to go before I sleep.
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