Buffalo Gal

There's an elaborate mathematical formal somewhere that supports the perception that time goes by more quickly as you get older.
At 20, each year is an extended trip to the amusement park. At 47, I feel like I've barely been in line before the roller coaster comes back around for another run.
The physical number of hours doesn't change, but their value sky-rockets. An hour spent on bitterness or disappointment will never be reclaimed with one of joy. Which is not to say I don't squander hours stupidly (old folks ARE cranky by nature), but I kick myself afterwards.
On my birthday this year it was easier to look past the hurt from a loved one who confounds me and on to the genuine sense of celebration in others I hold dear. There were so many unexpected delights at home, at work and especially with my Scrap Sisters -- that soothed the achy space.
Within days I watched my Aunt Judy bury the love of her life - and how her family and friends moved quickly to fill in the spaces around her. But it was probably more for us than her. Within hours of when the ambulance left her house, she stated simply "I'm not going to be one of those widows that says she can't go on. I have too much else."
So we've laughed more than we've cried about Uncle Bob -- and he'd be proud of the whole gang of us.
It's not a question of ignoring hurt, simply allowing it a reasonable portion.
Today is Charlie's birthday. I made some fresh blueberry muffins for him before work today, but was sad by the time I got to the office that I didn't have the money this year to get him the kind of present he deserved.
The work waiting at my desk stole my thoughts, but the idea hung in the back of my mind until he called -- beside himself happy about the particularly thoughtful gift that had just arrived from our younger daughter.
I'm sure she didn't intend to give us both a gift, but she did. It's a startling place for a parent to discover your child is now taking care of you. But it's wonderful to have a child who does so joyfully.
We've got a dinner reservation at a spaghetti joint with bibs tonight where we will shake our heads wondering just where our sweet fragile child became a magnificent woman, chat about the latest with our cousins and friends and probably share a couple of Uncle Bob stories too.
And realize the gift of each year is recognizing how very much more you have to celebrate.

Copyright 2006 Judi Griggs

Buffalo Gal Judi Griggs I'm a communications professional, writer, cynic, mother, wife and royal pain. The order depends on the day. I returned to my hometown in November 2004 after a couple of decades of heat and hurricanes. I can polish pristine copy, but not here. This is my morning exercise -- 20-minute takes without a net or spellcheck. It's easier than sit ups for me. No guarantee what it will be for you. Clicking on the subscribe link will send you an email notice when each new entry is posted.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (1) Share on Facebook		2006-08-23 1:02 PM Simply celebrating There's an elaborate mathematical formal somewhere that supports the perception that time goes by more quickly as you get older. At 20, each year is an extended trip to the amusement park. At 47, I feel like I've barely been in line before the roller coaster comes back around for another run. The physical number of hours doesn't change, but their value sky-rockets. An hour spent on bitterness or disappointment will never be reclaimed with one of joy. Which is not to say I don't squander hours stupidly (old folks ARE cranky by nature), but I kick myself afterwards. On my birthday this year it was easier to look past the hurt from a loved one who confounds me and on to the genuine sense of celebration in others I hold dear. There were so many unexpected delights at home, at work and especially with my Scrap Sisters -- that soothed the achy space. Within days I watched my Aunt Judy bury the love of her life - and how her family and friends moved quickly to fill in the spaces around her. But it was probably more for us than her. Within hours of when the ambulance left her house, she stated simply "I'm not going to be one of those widows that says she can't go on. I have too much else." So we've laughed more than we've cried about Uncle Bob -- and he'd be proud of the whole gang of us. It's not a question of ignoring hurt, simply allowing it a reasonable portion. Today is Charlie's birthday. I made some fresh blueberry muffins for him before work today, but was sad by the time I got to the office that I didn't have the money this year to get him the kind of present he deserved. The work waiting at my desk stole my thoughts, but the idea hung in the back of my mind until he called -- beside himself happy about the particularly thoughtful gift that had just arrived from our younger daughter. I'm sure she didn't intend to give us both a gift, but she did. It's a startling place for a parent to discover your child is now taking care of you. But it's wonderful to have a child who does so joyfully. We've got a dinner reservation at a spaghetti joint with bibs tonight where we will shake our heads wondering just where our sweet fragile child became a magnificent woman, chat about the latest with our cousins and friends and probably share a couple of Uncle Bob stories too. And realize the gift of each year is recognizing how very much more you have to celebrate. Copyright 2006 Judi Griggs Read/Post Comments (1) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top