Time, Is On My Side...Yes It Is

I guess it was about 5 years ago that I bought my first tube of anti-wrinkle, hope a miracle takes place, cream. It was about 3 years ago I became a grandmother. That term still makes me slightly queezy even though I love my grandkids.  And  it was sometime last year that my doctor started using words like, high blood pressure, calcium intake, and regular visits.

There are two things that are unstoppable. A woman at a TJ Maxx one day sale and time.

Time. Not enough of it. Precious. Tick tock.Winding down. Sands in the hourglass.
Unlike Mick Jager, I do not feel like time is on my side.
Actually, after seeing him on TV recently I think even Mick would rethink those lyrics. But I digress.

As I type this I notice defined wrinkles on my hands where at one time, smooth young skin stretched out to handle my daily tasks. The wrinkles remind me that my time is running out. What do I have left? 25 years? 30? 45? No idea. But it does make me aware of the fact that I had better get a move on. What dreams have I not yet given life to?  Who have I failed to forgive? What stories have I not shared? What places have I not seen? What words have I not yet whispered?

Although growing older does have it's snags, I wouldn't trade it to regain my youth. It used to be that I greeted the day with a distant nod, no proper courtesy...I was cocky and invincible.
Now, as I rise with each sun, there is a reverence  towards the blessing of having another 24 hours. I used to think I knew everything. Now, there is a hard, fought for wisdom that is rooted in the soil of clueless. At one time I ran amuck, now  I am more careful where I place my feet, the  footprints I leave holding great value. I hug harder, listen closer,  laugh louder,  talk less, think carefully, and care deeper. So I guess, in some way...time has been on my side. It has been a great teacher.

As I travel the country sharing The Wrinkles Project, I am in awe of the beauty, wisdom, humor, and history that I am honored to see in each of the seniors I meet. With paper thin hands and raspy voices they share with me things that only time can teach.



I have a lot of fun doing what I do.

I love doing what I do.

But it comes with a price. I work really hard. I mean 24/7. Emails, booking, contracts, contacts, networking, creating, creating, creating, practice, travel, tell, tell, tell.

Sometimes at 3am my husband will walk into my office and ask when I am coming to bed...but the mojo is flowing and I cannot stop.

My daughter told me that it is like having divorced parents, she only sees me 2 days a week. (Don't feel to bad about this, she is 20 for goodness sakes.)

My friend told me she might be moving. I said that it would be sad if she moved. She said that it shouldnt matter...we never see each other anymore.

My dogs are shifting their loyalty to my husband. Now this smarts.

My gardens are not what they used to be.

But I wouldn't change a thing.

I had a woman come up to me with tears in her eyes and tell me that she was so touched by my story that she is going to start visiting her mother more. Her mom is in a nursing home.

A little girl named Jeannie kept her head down and shuffled her feet as she told me that she was a tomboy too. And I told her that was okay. And she smiled up at me.

A roomful of people laughed and then cried as I told them how I danced with my mother.

These three things happened in one day. One day of many.

So, sleep can wait. My daughter will build her own life. My friend will always be my friend. And the dogs, well...they keep my husband company.

I cannot stop. I love what I do.
Actually, it is not about what I do....it is more about who I am.
I am a storyteller.

Dwelling On the Past

Be forward focused, keep your eye on the prize, reach for the goal, move forward, look to the future. All wonderful little zips of encouragement that help us build momentum so we can jump the hurdles that are to come.

Face forward, don't look back, do not dwell on the past!

Can't. I make my living by dwelling on the past. Dwelling on the past normally has a negative connontation to it, but in my world dwelling on the past is a delight. It is where I pull most of my material from. Memories dangle like ripe fruit in the recesses of my mind waiting to be plucked and squeezed.

The coming times are covered in a thick-mantled mist overcast with doubts and uncertainty. But the green paths of the past, the cool meadows of memory is all my own. Nothing is uncertain. On quiet hills the past has bloomed and I can choose to stop and smell the good and tread over the bad.

I think I will keep dwelling in the past. I have found many treasures there.
Wow. It has been a long, long time since I sat down to drip drop a blog into cyberspace.

I don't think anyone reads them. So why write? Because it feels good to hear yourself type.

My website is being redesigned. I have to decide whether or not to put a blog on it.

I got an invitation the other day to be a fan of myself.

I just spent three hours answering emails that were backed up into the alley.

My IPhone never leaves the palm of my hand. I hold on to it tighter than I did my kids hands when we crossed traffic.

I eat Twinkies because I feel guilty for not accepting green plants and pieces of rice on Facebook.

And I want to know why I am tired and stressed. Ahhh, technology.

Thank goodness I get to hop in my car on an almost daily basis, put the windows down, turn the music up and drive for hours. I love it. Wanderlust runs in my family. My grandfather was a huckster. My dad sold RV's on the road. And I am a traveling storyteller. The DNA of our family is based in asphalt and dirt, twisting up into lines sprawled across a wrinkled map.

I'd have it no other way. My car is like a respite. An escape. A humming spa of tire and tread, magnified heat through the window glass, Etta James in the passenger seat and wide open spaces filled with new ideas, dreams, and memories.

I love to go.