• Sandy Turner: I refuse to be compared to a moldy old cheese

  • When he brought home the two foot tall rain gauge, complete with two-inch tall numbers, there was no denying it, we’ve gone over the hill.

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  • When he brought home the two foot tall rain gauge, complete with two-inch tall numbers, there was no denying it, we’ve gone over the hill.
    After discussing where we should put it, how exciting it was to finally have rain, and the fact that a red ball will float in the water so we can see the rainfall amounts from the window, it suddenly became very funny. When I started laughing, I didn’t have to explain why, as he was thinking the same thing – we are acting like “old” people.
    Now that I’m over 50, it doesn’t seem like the word “old” should be used when talking about an age. Old sounds like a piece of moldy cheese not a person who’s in the prime of their life. I consider the prime to be from now until it’s over, besides, doesn’t cheese get better with age?
    Even though we love having the grandkids over on the weekends, when our calendar didn’t have any commitments on it for this weekend, the list making began (apparently another characteristic that makes people seem “old”). I’ve been so excited about the grass turning green I actually blurted out, “the green is so grass!” OK, this may be from “old” age, or maybe I’m just delirious from having to endure several snowmaggedens.
    In my excitement of spring finally arriving I bought 15 bulbs of flowers and 15 bulbs of trellis plants. Along with the cannas bulbs in the basement, I figure it will take me most of the day Saturday to get them planted. He’s a little concerned flowering vines are going to take over the antique rake sitting in the front yard and the gate at the end of the driveway but apparently not enough to say I couldn’t do it.
    Sunday can’t come soon enough as the day will be spent mowing. It’s finally time and I couldn’t be happier. Even though I miss Big Red, the ‘54 Ford tractor, mowing the 10 acres is still one of my favorite things to do. The faster-than-the-speed-of-light mower cuts the mowing time in half but it gives me more time to work in the garden, so I can’t complain.
    There’s a simple satisfaction about working outside all weekend, with dirt under my nails and grass stains on my jeans. It makes me happy to see the first sprouts of life peek out of the ground after weeks of watering and watching or admiring the pattern of freshly mowed grass. If that’s a sign of being “old” then I must be ancient.
    By the time Monday rolls around my back will be sore, the muscles that have been dormant all winter will be shouting with pain and I’ll be exhausted, happy and satisfied.
    Page 2 of 2 - Father Time may be catching up with Mother Nature, but getting to play in the dirt gives me a twinkle in my wrinkle.
    Sandy Turner lives in Independence. Email her at sandydownhome@hotmail.com

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