Thoughts on Saturday Morning

I love Saturday mornings. The one morning of the
week, that I am not looking at a to do list or writing
notes to myself, or doing laundry. It is the only day
that my husband and I get to hang out and just be
"us."

My birthday is coming. I will let you know a secret,
I hate my birthday, I mean really hate it. I don't know
why, but I do, and how can I be this old, I have all of these
grown up people around with children of their own and I
know I was there the day they were born, but really,
I am still 17... I read this and it cheered me up.

" I Shall Not Mind"
I shall not mind
The whiteness of my hair
Or that slow steps falter
on the stair,
Or what strange image
Greets me in the glass---
If I can feel,
As roots feel in the sod,
That I am growing old to bloom
Before the face of God.
---Author Unknown---

I learned in third grade, that I was not pretty like
the other girls. So being who and what I am, I knew
I would have to work on being nice. I would ask
my Dad if I was pretty, he always said. " Pretty is
as pretty does." When you are in third grade and
you want to be pretty like everyone else that is not
much comfort. So I went to work on the nice part.

Now getting older is a challenge because I am afraid
of turning not into my mother but my grandmothers.
I skipped a generation because I think I spent more time
with my grandmothers. My grandmother lived next door
and my great-grandmother lived next to her.
I found this and it pretty well sums up what I am afraid of
turning into.
Prayer for the Middle-aged
By a 17th Century Nun

Lord, Thou knowest better than I know myself
that I am growing old,
Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking
I must say something on every subject
and on every occasion,

Release me from craving to straighten out everybody's affairs,
Make me thoughtful but not moody, helpful but not bossy,
With my vast store of wisdom it seems a pity
not to use it all, Thou knowest, Lord,
that I want a few friends at the end.

Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details;
give me wings to get to the point,
Seal my lips on my aches and pains,
They are increasing, and love of rehearsing them is
becoming sweeter as the years go by,

I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of others' pains
but help me to endure them with patience.
I dare not ask for improved memory,
but for growing humility and a lessening cocksureness when
when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others.
Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken.

Keep me reasonably sweet,
I do not want to be a saint---
some of them are so hard to live with---
but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the devil.
Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places
and talents in unexpected people.
Give me the grace to tell them so,
Amen.

I loved this poem and as my birthday is looming, I do want to keep
my sense of humor. I hope you have a lovely Saturday too.