Seventy-Five

When I was a child, I thought anyone over 60 was really ancient.

And 75? Couldn't even imagine that number as ever applying to myself. It was too incredibly distant in the future.

When I grew a little older, my perspective did change a bit. My grandmother was a lively and active person well into her eighties. My mother and aunts in their 50s and 60s were quite young in looks and actions.

And the years just kept adding on. Turning 60 was a bit of a shock to my system, but it seemed I barely blinked and I'd crossed over into yet another decade.

And now I am 75, holding a gift decoration to be added to my deck.

On July 4, 2016, I hit the three-quarters of a century mark. I really am an old lady. Can't deny it. But it is not quite the way I thought it would be when I was young. Yes, my body lets me know I am not young. But my brain just feels like Me. On the outside, age is part of my identity. On the inside, I am just myself. Life changes. Circumstances change. Time rolls on.