I’m sixty-one, where did the years go?
There were things I used to do that I can’t anymore.
I can’t stay awake late!
I can’t sleep through the night!
There are many things I don’t have to worry about.
Like the pain of getting my bikini line waxed.
Don’t do that anymore!
I don’t have to worry about making myself look good for the young men at work.
They don’t care!
I do have a better friendship with them though.
They look after this old girl!
I don’t worry about my figure so much.
You can’t fight gravity.
No need to worry about the latest fashions.
Walking became easier.
Why?
No more heels!
Don’t have to worry about getting my bottom pinched in Italy anymore.
Or getting hit on at the bar.
An old guy at the bar did take a shine to me a couple of years ago.
Sent me a fried pickle???
Didn’t eat it!
Getting old isn’t all bad, you just have to embrace it, and remember its better than what comes next. Won’t be able to blog about that!!!!!
Oh what a life! We are born, hit our teens and become emotional time bombs.
We get married, have kids (everyone’s emotions explode). The kids go to college, get married and then there is this weird void!
I feel like I’ve been emotionally paralyzed for a while. Yes, I have feelings and cry occasionally, but controlled tears.
All of a sudden, the floodgates have opened again and tears are flowing at the slightest thing. It started on Wednesday evening at the Cyndi Lauper/Rod Stewart Concert. Cyndi was a powerful performer, funny, cute and sang with a vengeance.
But when Rod Stewart took the stage my heart became open and vulnerable. Three songs into his show the tears started to stream down my face. It was the same old Rod from the seventies. The one I saw at a Rock Festival in Reading.
Was I crying because I remembered I was once young? No, I think I was crying from sheer pleasure. I remembered my life and all I’ve done. All I’m still doing. Maybe I remembered how lucky I am and cried tears of happiness. Who knows, but I’m grateful!
I’m sure my schedule is much the same as yours. On weekdays I rise and shine at 5:30 and work out. Then do a few chores before setting off to work for eight o clock.
On the way home from work I run errands, then maybe a few more chores when I get home. An evening walk is usually on the schedule too. At around 7:30 or 8:00 pm (if I’m lucky). I sit down and relax.
Saturday and Sunday aren’t much better. Why do we do this to ourselves? Today I woke up and mentally listed what I needed to do. Immediately I became stressed.
So instead, I made myself some coffee and asked myself how I’d like to spend the day! These are the answer’s I came up with.
I’d like to:
Work on my current short story (The Engineer)
Make some cookies
Meet my daughter for Happy Hour
Have another cup of coffee and…relax.
I believe someone much more important than me decreed Sunday be a day of rest.
Why do I find it so difficult to relax? My brain doesn’t switch off. I worry about dinner at Christmas (six months ahead). I worry about shopping and buying furniture during my next trip to Italy (three months ahead). I worry about what I said last week to my boss (can’t change it now).
Does this happen to everyone? Anyone got a solution?
When the sun goes down on your life do you want to say you just lived it? Or do you want to say you really lived it! Do you want to say you OWNED IT?
Looking back at my life, I’m pretty happy. It wasn’t perfect, but I have an amazing daughter, quirky husband, a job I really enjoy and a great future ahead of me when I retire to Abruzzo. I’m not rich and worked hard for everything I have, but I always had something to work for. We moved from England to the US in 1995. I changed my career (by accident). We travelled as much as our money would allow.
This old girl writes, laughs, loves and cries. She didn’t just live her life, she took control and owned it.
Was I borne odd? Perhaps. It’s hard to tell. I was always a little different though. The odd one out. I didn’t enjoy playing with the other kids. Instead I’d find a place to sit in a quiet forest, surrounded by bluebells.
Making myself comfortable against the trunk of a tree I’d sit there for hours looking for fairies. I believed in fairies and every time someone said they didn’t, I’d cry, knowing a fairy died when you said you didn’t believe.
As I sat there I’d dream about my future. Not fame, fortune and riches. I’d dream about happiness and beautiful places I’d heard of, but never seen. I’ve visited many of those places now and I think I’m ready to settle down in the one that captured my heart.
Retirement is looming, not so young anymore, but I still look for fairies. I know they’re out there.
When I was in my late twenties, and a young mother, I had to live with my parents for a couple of months while I waited for the army to accommodate me. My husband was in the Falkland Islands and I had a young daughter. I was resentful at losing my independence and wasn’t the best house guest!
One day, when my dad was out playing golf, I heard music in the living room. It wasn’t the type of music mum, who was almost 70, usually listened to. I opened the door quietly and peeped in to see what was going on. What I saw took my breath away and put a huge smile on my face.
My mum was jumping around the living room, swiveling her hips, shaking her arms and dancing as though her life depended on it. She had her back to me and never saw me watching her. Closing the door quietly I want to my little bedroom at the back of the house and left her to dance.
When I’m feeling down I remember that moment. My mum died over ten years ago, and I’m in my early sixties, but I’m going to live life like there’s no tomorrow and dance as long as I can.
Oh what a week. The telephone woke me up at 3:30 on Monday morning. My daughter was in hospital in Verona She was bitten by a dog while out on her early morning run. I felt sick. Thousands of miles away and nothing I could do to help. It worked out okay. The Italian hospital looked after her, free of charge. I love Italy.
Next stomach churning worry was my beloved Audi. Its been smelling of petrol for a few days, and gradually got worse. The smell filled the garage and seeped into the house. Why do things all happen at the same time? We’re traveling for Thanksgiving the car needs to be safe. I was horrified when the mechanic showed me what he found. Mice had nibbled each fuel inject so petrol dripped into the engine. It’s a miracle the car still started. All fixed (and my bank account is two thousand dollars lighter).
Yin and Yang, it’s the circle of life, and what makes this all ok is…I have a house in Italy and when I’m stressing, I just think about it and my world is at peace. Now I just have to find a way to make money so I can retire early.
Five short days ago I arrived in Rome Airport, met my daughter and headed out to Abruzzo to buy a house. I’d made arrangements with a realtor to view five. The first two were okay, but the third one was outstanding. A quirky old olive mill that has been remodeled into a quirky, but beautiful home. We made an offer which the sellers accepted. Can’t wait to start buying furnitre.
The photo above is Vasto, which is a beautiful seaside town in Abruzzo. I’d forgotten how stunning and soothing the Adriatic is. I’m sure the road to finally exchanging contracts on this home will have its bumps, but it will be worth it. Hang in for the ride.
![IMG_0875[1]](https://travelwithsandra.files.wordpress.com/2018/05/img_08751.jpg?w=300&h=225)
Five short days ago I arrived in Rome Airport, met my daughter and headed out to Abruzzo to buy a house. I’d made arrangements with a realtor to view five. The first two were okay, but the third one was outstanding. A quirky old olive mill that has been remodeled into a quirky, but beautiful home. We made an offer which the sellers accepted. Can’t wait to start buying furnitre.
