I’m not old, just cheesy
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 is to have rain and not snow, I busted out 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 60, 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 in the prime of 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 doesn’t have any commitments on it, the list making begins (apparently another characteristic that makes people seem "old"). I've been so excited about the grass turning green I actually blurted out, "the grass is so green!" OK, this may be from being a senior, or I'm delirious from having to endure several months of freezing weather during a pandemic.
In my excitement over spring's’ arrival, 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 to get them planted. He's a little concerned I’m anxious to self-inflict back pain by shoveling, but apparently not enough so he’d help me.
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 zero turn 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 and 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.
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 email@example.com.