I'm Still Here

I was looking at some old pictures of myself – back when I was in my thirties. (I’m not saying how old I am, but the thirties were some time back.) I was gorgeous. I really was. Did I think so? No. I knew I wasn’t ugly, but I never thought of myself as beautiful, and so no one else did either.

I’m beginning to think beauty is a matter of attitude – a matter of confidence. But now that I’ve got the confidence, I don’t have the looks. In fact, I have to work hard to keep from looking like a bag lady. I’ll bet a lot of you feel the same way.

What I’m trying to lead up to is my explanation of why my blog is late today. I had my hair cut and colored. It takes a long time – two and a half hours altogether, once a month. My hair used to be black. Now it’s medium brown. If I didn’t color it, it would be gray all over. I used to have worlds of hair. Now I fluff it around so my scalp isn’t visible.

I’m beginning to hate the whiny sound of this post, so I’ll stop. If you are in the bloom of youth as you read this, go look in the mirror. You look great. You really do. Enjoy it. I wish I had.

I’m not going to end this post on a negative note. Every time I start feeling bad about how I look, I think,

Be glad you are still here.

I almost wasn’t. Two years ago on St. Patrick’s day, I had a stroke. I was driving on the Washington DC beltway at the time, in a stick shift car.

I’m still here. My legs and arms and speech were not affected. I managed to park my car in a no-parking zone, and it didn’t even get towed.

I refuse to dwell on what was or what could have been or what I’ve missed in my life. That way madness lies. I want to enjoy every minute of whatever time I have left. Right now I sit here listening to my grandmother’s clock tick, in a comfortable chair, with dinner almost ready, and my husband coming in the door right now. Life is good.