Ageless at 88? Yes and no. Does it sound ambiguous?
The mind is an endless source of ideas for the future, youthful and creative. However, my body is another story – Oy!
The joints from head to toe are corroded, rusty, squeaky, on fire and betray my youthful
spirit. Just the perils of growing older, not old, but older.
How does an elderly lady of eighty eight and a half escape the turmoil my body creates?
I write short stories, poetry and a novel. I delve into the worldly wisdom that has accumulated from an interesting life. My beloved husband of almost sixty seven years is my cheerleader, nudging me on to new heights. That is, if I can find the four inches I lost during the journey. Now that I am five feet three inches my feet rebel against wearing fancy high heels. So I trudge up the hill in sneakers or sensible oxfords, hurting each step of the way. Do I cry? No, I laugh at the humorous sight in the mirror.
Can any of you on the internet relate to the picture I have painted in words?
Please tell me your stories.
You might be interested in how I receive Phoebe’s posts. They come to me, handwritten, in the mail. I’m not kidding. Phoebe does not write on a computer. She can’t send them via e-mail or as an attachment. We rely on the U.S. Postal Service to get them from her to me.
It works! Phoebe is such a wonderful writer. I don’t care how she manages to get her stories to my computer.