Journal Entry - January 22, 2008

OLD

Lord, how did I get to be this old? I don’t know this old woman who stares back at me from shiny store windows no matter how fast I try to hurry past her. Whose hands are these that are folded in prayer, gnarled and wrinkled? I remember my hands, Lord. They took care of my babies, gave soft caresses and wore beautiful turquoise rings. They played the guitar, made the “peace sign,” and scribbled notes and words on pieces of napkins and matchbook covers. And Father, they looked so beautiful when they held a long-stemmed rose or a crystal wine glass.

I must have been riding a lightening-bolt to go from being “cute and quirky” to “disgusting and crazy” in such a short time. I used to make people laugh. I was fun! They all told me so. Nowadays, I only hear laughter echoing from other rooms and I am not a part of it.

I remember walking on the beach barefoot. I was strong and tan, and I wore an ankle bracelet that David had given me for my birthday; it had tiny gold starfish and sand dollars tinkling like bells every time I took a step. It was so pretty, and my toenails looked like little frosted pink shells. My toenails are twisted now, and curling – ugly, ugly things. My days of beach walking are over, as are my days of sandal wearing. I wonder where I put that ankle bracelet, though? I might get it out just to hear it tinkle.

I used to cook every day. Mountains of food, it seemed. All the kids liked “a little something different.” Davey would not eat onions in any form. Jenn would not eat mushrooms, even hidden under other ingredients. The only thing that Lorie would not eat were raspberries, which didn’t present too much of a problem when I cooked. None of them would eat liver, so one time I played a joke on all three of them; I cooked “liver parmesan,” knowing full well that all kids will eat mozzarella cheese and tomato sauce (no mushrooms, onions or raspberries, of course) no matter what the cooks puts it on. That was the one and only time my children ate liver and liked it. I wonder if they remember?

Nowadays, I cook mostly for my dogs. “Hey do you guys want some chicken livers? How about a nice cheese omelet?”

I look into the mirror and see something besides the ugliness of age. I see the desperation of lonely. Lord, where did my babies go? Why is David gone? I need my Mom, Lord.
Thank you for my dogs being here with me. They need me, I tell myself. But Father, the truth is, I need them. I’m old, and old ladies are funny about things like pets.

And, Lord, while we're talking...I hate this battle that I'm in. Why am I in it? Am I even that patriotic? I protested the war in Viet Nam, remember? Anyway, you know that I am about out of bullets. I am firing the last one right now with this blog. Lord, if you want me to fight beyond this, please send whiskey, guns and ammo.

I’m going to bed now, Lord. Maybe I’ll wake up in the morning young. Amen and Goodnight.