Fangboner Farms

How Did My Hands Get So Old?

Lately I've had some time to reflect on my life - specifically my aging. My son got married in September.  I could not be happier with the woman he is sharing his life with and brought into our family. And her family that tagged along too. But how did I get old enough to have a daughter-in-law? And to have children that are 28 & 29? (and yes I have claimed I had them at 12 & 14 but not really) I see myself as strong, confident, attractive enough that small children don't run screaming when they see me, seeing the glass almost full, smart, caring and pursuing my passions in life. I think I'm just starting to maybe hit middle age at 54, I have a wonderful relationship, friends that make my life vital and full of humor, family that is there for me whenever I need them (although we don't discuss politics or religion) and a job and business that feed my creativity and need to contribute. But when in the hell did my hands get so freakin' old? Roland gave me a beautiful ring - we're now going steady.  That's what you call it when two people are happy in their relationship as is but she bugs him for a ring. And if he had a letterman's jacket, and either of us could actually wear it, it would be official. I was so happy when he gave it to me and I put it on.  I took a picture and sent it to my kids and friends to share my excitement. Then I looked at the picture. old lady hand Yikes. Age spots. Loose skin. Funky skin tone. Whose hand is that? I was bummed about it for a bit.  Then I decided what the hell. I've earned every single age spot. They've come from experiences that were painful, joyful, made me sad, happy and made me grow. I've earned them and am working on being proud of them. Gloria Steinem has always inspired me. I saw this a few years ago on Oprah and at the time it didn't apply to me - I thought. But now I watch it and feel excited about the freedom that comes with my age spots.  I'm not ready to wear purple and a red hat yet but I am ready to kick some serious a!# going forward in the second half of my life. But I'm not ready to discuss the crevices under my eyes yet. Or stretch marks. Or why I still get zits.  

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