Nice, Ayala! I think queen is what we’d LIKE to be called [my family had other words, mainly because I hadn’t yet learned the lessons you mention]. For me, 50-ish was sort of a late teen teen years–catching up on the things childbreaing had cut short, applying new wisdom, etc. I was a widow at 50, so I was dating during that decade too. A book could be written on the ludicrous horrors of middle aged dating! Wow! Anyway, a great learning time, when I had lots of freedom of motion and plenty of physical vigor. But I want to consider myself a crone now, at 62. I think it may be one of the tasks of our generation to re-define cronehood. How fun it is, is indeed a well-kept secret. Although the all-seeing Margret Mead said somewhere that “post-menopausal zest” is a cross cultural phenomenon. For me, perspective was gained at 50 by saying, well, how many adult years have I too look forward to, versus how many are past? The ansewer, more ahead of me than behind me, was a great antidote to the “it’s over” feeling, and a spur to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life. Actuarial figures are, by the way, that if you are a US female and arrive at 52 in good health, your life expectancy is into the ninties. OH. And then [I take comfort in ironies, a bad habit, but…] there’s the reflection that too soon old and too late smart is the story of everybody’s life. No matter how knuckle-headed we were at twenty-something, we probably aren’t alone in our stories of silly choices and persistent flight from opportunity. Hmmm. Actually, the trade-offs have faded into the distance, and the memory is the experience of what was right or wrong with the choice I made. My children, of course, don’t TELL me anything until the crisis is past–so I never know what choices they are making, really. I try to visit frequently for short periods (with considerate notice), fit myself into their schedule and needs instead of demanding they wrap themselves around mine, ask intelligently about their interests, and speak kindly and encouragingly. So far it’s working really well. The Holy Grail of contemporary motherhood–“I’m fiends with my kids”–is frequently in sight. Happy cronehood, all. Kathleen
Quite a typo! “I’m FRIENDS with my kids” was the intended text.
As blogsite sounds ominous and I still dont know what it is, I put off entering yours for too long.You’ve done a Good job girl. Like David Hawkins, the only contraption I can operate is a radio that has three buttons–off, on, volume. I dont know URL either. But HAWKINS says you can get to heaven anyway without it. I hope this doesn’t make you too busy to send me e-mails. Love, Dottie
Don’t have alot of time…so for a brief..the first time I have blogged..interestin concept. Hope to see yah Friday at the Fair. Until then be well.
Cedar
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Nice, Ayala! I think queen is what we’d LIKE to be called [my family had other words, mainly because I hadn’t yet learned the lessons you mention]. For me, 50-ish was sort of a late teen teen years–catching up on the things childbreaing had cut short, applying new wisdom, etc. I was a widow at 50, so I was dating during that decade too. A book could be written on the ludicrous horrors of middle aged dating! Wow! Anyway, a great learning time, when I had lots of freedom of motion and plenty of physical vigor. But I want to consider myself a crone now, at 62. I think it may be one of the tasks of our generation to re-define cronehood. How fun it is, is indeed a well-kept secret. Although the all-seeing Margret Mead said somewhere that “post-menopausal zest” is a cross cultural phenomenon. For me, perspective was gained at 50 by saying, well, how many adult years have I too look forward to, versus how many are past? The ansewer, more ahead of me than behind me, was a great antidote to the “it’s over” feeling, and a spur to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life. Actuarial figures are, by the way, that if you are a US female and arrive at 52 in good health, your life expectancy is into the ninties. OH. And then [I take comfort in ironies, a bad habit, but…] there’s the reflection that too soon old and too late smart is the story of everybody’s life. No matter how knuckle-headed we were at twenty-something, we probably aren’t alone in our stories of silly choices and persistent flight from opportunity. Hmmm. Actually, the trade-offs have faded into the distance, and the memory is the experience of what was right or wrong with the choice I made. My children, of course, don’t TELL me anything until the crisis is past–so I never know what choices they are making, really. I try to visit frequently for short periods (with considerate notice), fit myself into their schedule and needs instead of demanding they wrap themselves around mine, ask intelligently about their interests, and speak kindly and encouragingly. So far it’s working really well. The Holy Grail of contemporary motherhood–“I’m fiends with my kids”–is frequently in sight. Happy cronehood, all. Kathleen
Quite a typo! “I’m FRIENDS with my kids” was the intended text.
As blogsite sounds ominous and I still dont know what it is, I put off entering yours for too long.You’ve done a Good job girl. Like David Hawkins, the only contraption I can operate is a radio that has three buttons–off, on, volume. I dont know URL either. But HAWKINS says you can get to heaven anyway without it. I hope this doesn’t make you too busy to send me e-mails. Love, Dottie
Don’t have alot of time…so for a brief..the first time I have blogged..interestin concept. Hope to see yah Friday at the Fair. Until then be well.
Cedar
Add to my best sites! Really nice!