Much to my dismay, once warm weather arrived–the kind of temperatures where windows can be open allowing cool breezes to fill the house–along comes an occasional “thing” that doesn’t belong.

Since the month of May I have found a variety of small spiders in the house…as well as a few ants–the large black ones to be exact–the ants cause me to become more angry for some reason. I have found them on the kitchen counter, under the sink…most recently one was walking on the kitchen soffit … .I found one in the hallway near the thermostat and this morning one was crawling on my barefoot as I sat in the office checking email!

Those three ants did not belong in either spot when I found them! Goodness, if they were looking for a tasty crumb or a cool drink neither of those were on their path. Which leads me to Psalm 37: 5. How many of us wander from the right path that God has set before us?

This verse–one of my favorites–says “Commit your way to the Lord;…”

Months ago I listened to a teaching on this verse and was amazed at what I learned. The “way” mentioned here refers to a road, a journey, a path and when we realize that it’s God who creates that very road…that “way”, and we “commit” ourselves to His design, in essence we are “rolling” on top of the path…we are not merely walking along without purpose or an end goal. Living a committed life keeps us “where we belong”…unlike my small ant visitors who truly don’t belong in my house–they were created to live in the outdoors creating homes and doing work in the dirt!

So, why commit–roll over–and remain on the road that God built for you? The answer comes in the next portion of the verse…(we) trust in Him and He will do “this”. What will He do? What exactly does “this” refer to for us?  “He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun”. Sounds like a very hot bright result, doesn’t it?

Who doesn’t want to shine brightly when faced with darkness? Who doesn’t want to be part of something big–a worthy cause–I know that I can say “yes” to both possibilities. Because of my relationship with Christ, Who made me righteous with His death on a cross…with my acceptance of His gift of salvation which redeems me, changes me, gives me new life…I can discern the path He has laid before me…ask for guidance to stay rolled over on the road paved by Him…wake each day trusting that because of Christ in me I can shine His Light to all I meet…take up worthy causes…stay where I belong and not wander off seeking what I need in all the wrong places.

Psalm 37 is a great read. Many of its commands are circled and underlined from numerous readings … .which only proves that more than once I’ve landed on its 40 verses to glean instruction, comfort, and develop my understanding of how to read God’s road map for my life.

A mere few weeks ago the lilies near our driveway were covered with buds, each passing day they grew larger along with my anticipation for the beauty they would put on display. And then catastrophe happened…on one of my morning walk-abouts, I discovered that every last bud had been chomped, leaving only the green leafy stem of each lily. I was devastated.

This week, on another walk about through the yard, I saw where the lily plants had been further eaten. Every last leaf on each stem was gone. Where once a healthy green stem bore many leaves and several potential blooms, now what remains is a spindly looking green stick shoved in the ground.

Deer. I’m not happy. They devoured and defiled something of beauty. I felt and continue to feel devastated and angry.

I know the deer need food, but I don’t understand why they can’t be satisfied with the lovely green grasses of our lawn or the pine needles on branches within easy reach? 

Such is heartache for some of us as life–meant to be innocent, pure and beautiful–is ravaged by deep hurt…our childhoods devoured by someone feeding an addiction or satisfying a sinful nature in all the wrong places.

Recently–and not merely this one story–I have heard accounts from women (and men) who were sexually molested/abused as children, often as only a toddler. Stories of inappropriate touch…unwelcome hugs and kisses…acts that are meant to be shared between a husband and wife…some of the predators were family friends, a sibling, and even a parent. Story after story –sharing after sharing–always leaves me feeling paralyzed, the kind of immobilization that makes me truly try to comprehend “why” did those horrific things happen? How could anyone harm a child, a teen, a loved one….

Certainly, the destruction of a lily does not nor ever measure in equality of hurt compared to harming an innocent child. But what the two images in my mind accomplish for me is how something with purpose–a beautiful plant–a uniquely created human being–both fashioned by God…can easily and quickly be destroyed.

My lilies will survive, though they will not bloom this season. The spindly stems will dry up, finish feeding the bulb which is safe under the soil and come up again next spring.

The harmed child will survive, too, but what scars will remain? How will life be different carrying around unhealed hurt or burying pain that was told to remain secret?

Like the bulb buried in the soil, there is hope. In our Celebrate Recovery Ministry we have many individuals who have found healing from the unintended destruction in their lives. By facing their hurts–by coming out of denial that problems don’t exist as a result of things done to them against their will–by bringing their past out of the darkness like that black dirt my liles live in, they are emerging into the Light of Christ Who promises healing, restoration, and new life!

Yes, deer chomp plants. Yes, people hurt people. But God is in the business of overcoming anything that keeps us from living an abundant life.  

Anything.

Lone gone are the last days of school for me. My own ended with graduation in June of 1971. I’d be a liar if I said “it seems like only yesterday” when I sat with my 600+ classmates on our football field waiting to get through all the speeches until each one of us walked up to the platform to get our diploma. While I can remember being very uncomfortable in my cap and gown in the afternoon heat, I cannot recall one speech or which one of my classmates delivered it. Living in that moment was certainly an important time in my life but now it’s a nice faded memory like an old pair of favorite jeans.

This week kids all over our communities are graduating, too…with the popularity of social media many of their photos are being posted for family and friends to enjoy. Parents are sharing first day/last day comparison photos and they’ve been great to see…causing me to reflect back on my own trek through elementary school years on into junior high and eventually high school.

Much has changed in the 52 years since I left my high school in Saginaw. We didn’t have social media to post photos or create an event for our graduation parties. Goodness, it wasn’t until my senior year that we girls were allowed to wear jeans or pants to school.

In my elementary years, on our last half day of school, we COULD wear shorts! Our dress code for the school year was always a dress or skirt…socks with shoes…no sandals or flip flops. We never saw a teacher in pants either….attire for them was the same, and our male teachers were required to wear a tie.

My elementary school was a city block from our home, which meant I walked. Our neighborhood had at least 50 kids, so we always had a group to join as we made our way to Merrill Park. I can remember being excited and nervous all at the same time, arriving on time and getting to my desk, waiting for my teacher to hand me my final report card with all my grades, her written comments regarding my academic growth…notes about behavior…and most important of all…the indication I had passed onto the next grade and who my teacher would be in the new school year. The walk home was filled with relief and all of us kids comparing grades and finding out if we would be in the same classroom with a friend.

I have many fond memories from my school years, most of which were never captured in a photo or social media post that are commonplace today. Some memories are tangled with the current events from the 70s…I can remember the “guys” in my graduating class being concerned about registering for the draft as the VietNam War was being fought….others were headed off to a top ten university, questioning if they were prepared for the rigors of college courses….quite a few went straight into the workforce as Saginaw had three major automobile plants working three shifts, promising good pay and steady employment. A few of my classmates enlisted in the military, a choice that was well respected in our community.

On my graduation night, I got my diploma. Well, actually, I got the folder my diploma would go into…in order to get my “actual” diploma I had to return my cap and gown…the tassel was mine to keep…along with a bunch of memories that are becoming more difficult to “pull up” in an aging mind…yet always bring a smile to my face when they do…and knowing I no longer need to worry about passing or failing…

Sitting here staring at the blank screen on my laptop….pulling together thoughts about what to write about this week, my head is swirling with many memories from childhood…especially those from my large Jewell family…our weekly Sunday visits to my grandparents home…dinner invitations to an aunt’s….family reunions….weddings, high school graduation parties…and as years ticked along…funerals…some expected, others as a result of deep sorrow. The common thread for most of my first 20 years was knowing that on any given occasion I mentioned, there would always be several uncles and aunts present…the very relatives I could not wait to see as I got myself ready for an afternoon drive to one of their homes…most of them resided in the Flint area which was about a 45 minutes to an hour trip from our home in Saginaw.

My dad–including his brothers–were champion storytellers. My dad’s sisters held their ground, too, sharing funny memories from their own childhoods growing up in northern Michigan on the family farm where grandpa eked out a living during the depression years. As I listened to their stories, a common theme seemed to be “who was the main culprit in a harmless prank”….there were a few choices that could be made from six rambunctious boys and four girls. As I sat near any one of them, I soaked up all the good natured teasing and laughter that came from their shared antics and numerous tales!

This past Memorial Day weekend my husband and I drove to Flint on our own to attend a party for one of my cousins who is relocating to Nebraska. She and her husband hosted an ice cream social for family and friends to come enjoy one another’s company and say our goodbyes as they launch themselves into a new adventure. Riding along in our car, I was very excited, anticipating being with some of my family. As enjoyable as it was, a thread of sadness was woven into the afternoon.

Gone are my parents. Gone are my five uncles, their wives…one aunt –the baby of the Jewell siblings–is our last loved one to enjoy at family gatherings…

Filling the chairs now are us cousins–we are now the “elders” in our Jewell family. Missing are numerous younger children…it seems that life lived in the 50s and 60s is very different from the 2000s…it’s not that I doubt my extended family does not value getting together…it’s very fair to say that priorities have changed…our methods of staying connected with one another have gone from phone calls and family functions to social media, FaceTime calls, texting….and lazy Sunday afternoons are now consumed with work, sports…a variety of distractions that take us from our homes that don’t necessarily include spending time with loved ones we only see once or twice a year.

Yes, I miss my Uncle Rusty, the impish twinkle in his eyes as he lit up his pipe while getting ready to tell a story….my Uncle Lou who could spin a yarn that was slightly truthful but kept me on the edge of my seat waiting for the story’s outcome…my Aunt Helen gladly sharing memories growing up with brothers who constantly teased her, yet the deep love and affection they all held for each other was always part of her storyline.

miss running around with numerous cousins, all vying for attention from these loveable relatives who filled our hearts with love and affection…encouraged us…offered hugs and kisses galore….kept us entertained for hours on end.

I miss the beauty of yesteryear’s family gatherings where their memories were caught on an old Polaroid camera … .the time it took to get everyone lined up for the picture … .Now we are able to pull out a smartphone, snap a shot and share it immediately with everyone who wants a “copy”. 

This past Sunday, the lineup of loved ones looked very different but the laughter, the love we all felt around the tables that day, well, that didn’t change…..for those of us who attended the party, I hope we represented our respective parents well…laughing, sharing our own memories, loving on one another and enjoying the “younger” ones who made the afternoon drive themselves on a Sunday afternoon in May.

From a search using Google: Scientists believe that smell and memory are so closely linked because the anatomy of the brain allows olfactory (sense of smell)  signals to get to the limbic (the structural area of the brain concerned with emotion and motivation) system very quickly. Experts say the memories associated with smells tend to be older and thought about less often, meaning the recollection is very vivid when it happens. I believe this to be true!

This is the time of year that I will make a trip or two to my favorite greenhouse to purchase flowering and vegetable plants. Walking through the numerous aisles of all the varieties available for beautifying our yard is always a “walk down memory lane” for me, a lane I first discovered in the early years of my childhood when we visited my dad’s parents. Grandpa and Grandpa Jewell’s last home was about a forty minute drive from us. It was situated on several acres that allowed them to have chickens, huge berry patches of every variety, some corn, grapes, and wide open space to explore or climb trees. Our weekly Sunday visits with them were never boring. Sometimes there was a litter of new kittens, too, much to Gramp’s dismay.

While all of those things were great fun for a little girl growing up in the city on a corner lot, there is a memory from being with grandma that I hope never leaves me and that’s the smell of her small greenhouse which was attached to the rear of their small home.

My grandmother loved flowers, especially pansies and petunias. She had several potting benches to work her hands in the dirt when it came time to plant seeds. I knew all the stories of her “green thumb” which had to be diligent when raising 11 children, especially during the hard years the Depression era ushered in to so many families. I’d heard how her vegetable garden was a “legend” in the minds of envious neighbors who asked, “Sadie!–how do you grow such beautiful vegetables”…her gentle response “Oh, just a little manure now and then along with good watering”. Those in our family knew it was most likely “divine” care she was provided, because the truth is as grandma walked among her young garden plants she constantly was in prayer asking the Lord to provide for her hungry family.

In her last years at the Otter Lake home, she still planted a small garden, added in growing those pansies and petunias which she sold to anyone passing by–never on Sunday though!–that was the Lord’s day and money was never to be exchanged on His day. Folks were welcome in her greenhouse, dirt floors and all. She was happy to chat with prospective visitors or even pray with someone who would join her for a divine appointment. Family folklore talks about a time the local catholic parish priest came to buy flowers and since he had on his clerical collar gramma struck up a conversation that centered on Jesus–her first love! I don’t know what topic they landed on but it was clear they had a slight disagreement and gramma’s calm gentle manner to “resolve” the question was “I think we should get down on our knees right here (on the black dirt floor in the greenhouse) and pray about it”. That priest wasn’t comfortable joining her in prayer which gave her some dismay and disappointment. After all, in her mind, if two people professed loving Jesus, why couldn’t they pray together regardless of position or denomination? We were told that with all the confidence and gentleness this gracious woman could muster she asked him to leave “because anyone who can’t pray…..”

I could write volumes about my Grandma Jewell and I’m certain that will happen. I don’t want to forget her, having had her in my life for 14 years before her death. One way I am assured of not losing my memories of  her is every spring when I walk into ANY greenhouse…the smell of dirt hitting my nostrils…the warm humid air trapped inside the walls…flowers in bloom of all colors and varieties…and the joy I feel when I arrive at the benches holding pansies and petunias.

When you daydream of  being part of a defining moment, what activity or experience do you often visualize? For me, it could have been two things…being a writer or some type of singing ministry.

About the age of 13 I determined in my mind that I was going to write a book. After all, I thought, how hard could it be? Did I “know” anything about developing a novel that laid out a plot with twists, turns, and interesting characters? By that age I certainly had read many books and thought I had a pretty idea of “how to write a book”. I clearly remember sitting down on our living room couch with a cheap spiral notebook, pencil in hand and writing several pages. My dad was sitting next to me and casually glanced at my pen racing across the lines of each page, quietly asking me “whatcha doin’?” 

“Writing a book.”

“Ok!” was all he said in response. 

I think I remember writing two chapters of “that” book before laying the notebook down and forgetting about becoming a famous author.

Flash forward to high school and I landed in the journalism curriculum that was offered. By my senior year I was the editor of our yearbook (which won a national award!) and helped with articles for our school newspaper which was published on site. Our faculty advisor Mr. Matlock was a wonderful teacher and truly helped to lure me deeper into my love for writing. He was a stickler for quality work and meeting deadlines. Those high school journalism classes confirmed inside me that I wanted to write, somehow, somewhere. Upon graduation I had hopes to pursue working in an advertising agency but I ended up in a small business college program that led   to a 20 year career in the banking industry. Although I know those years spent in banking were far from being in a journalistic setting, I never forgot my daydream of writing someday….to the point that as a young adult I often thought how nice it’d be to write and publish a magazine or small paper that contained nothing but positive news and interesting human interest stories. Admittedly, I knew that our world gets enough daily doses of negative news and horrific events both locally, throughout our nation and the world in its entirety. 

Move through time with me again to the year 2012, when I left a part time job (stay tuned for further details) and revisited my daydream to be a writer. By now I owned a personal computer, had done a little bit of writing which had been met with encouraging feedback, and decided to launch my own personal blog. Recalling how I wanted to publish only “good news” and drawing from a family question “How hard is it to be nice?” I launched my blog titled “The Art of Nyce”. A close friend designed my logo and every week–mostly without fail–I have posed a weekly column on my site.

Now, some 11 years later, my blog is still humming along nicely…appearing on my site and shared to social media….I’m being given space each week in the “Fowlerville News & Views”. You see, I actually worked for the paper for about 10 years, managing the office for the Hortons, and was given the opportunity to write several human interest articles during those years. After submitting a Letter to the Editor about a month ago, I let Steve Horton know about my writing, my topics, always trying to be positive, encouraging, inspirational, and sometimes hit on my role as ministry leader for Celebrate Recovery.

I’m very grateful for the opportunity to expand my audience from my social media contacts into our community. My 13 year old daydream has taken on reality and though I don’t expect to win any big prizes for my writing skills, I do hope to draw you into moments that bring a breath of rest, a word of hope or encouragement, a break from those things that weigh down our hearts and minds.

This month I’ve had the privilege of teaching a brief lesson to our students who attend the version of Celebrate Recovery for their respective ages. We actually talked about “defining moments” for them, even in their young years. I was surprised and encouraged by their answers as each one spoke out loud their dreams and life plans. They listened to me, too, sharing about my 13 year old version and my path I followed, studied, worked to land where life currently has me. My prayer for each one of these kids is that they, too, can look back at their 13 year old versions of themselves and find they landed on success bathed in the joy of doing something they truly love.

Here I sit, in my chair in front of my laptop, the quiet humming of the fan running in the background as my fingers gently tap the keys while I spend a few moments daydreaming and gazing around my office…quietly uttering to myself…”what am I going to write about THIS week?”.…coming up with a theme, a generalized thought, is a real struggle and although it’s not enough to raise  my anxiety level, I admit I fret for a few moments over my inability to always have a topic in mind…to recall something cute or funny that may have happened during the week that could be turned into a whimsical post…to wonder why a morning spent doing other tasks all the while thinking “I need to sit down and post a blog today….” doesn’t suddenly give me something inspiring…

Until I glanced at a mailer from a local department store reminding me that Mother’s Day is Sunday, May 14. The fact that I kept the flier is somewhat puzzling because I no longer have a mother who is alive to celebrate in the day’s traditional manner. We said goodbye to her in 1999…moreso in 1995 we said goodbye to my husband’s mother, so you can see…we’ve both been motherless for quite some time now.

We no longer peruse through the countless cards for Mother’s Day…trying to choose exactly the right one. Gifts we used to purchase are no longer necessary and making time to visit both moms while they were alive doesn’t crowd our calendar on this special Sunday that has been set aside for moms. No, I guess I don’t need the flier advertising all the pretty things mom may want, but there it sits in the office filing tray, catching my eye when I look up from my laptop.

The pretty flier is displaying gift ideas such as slippers, candles, coffee mugs, soft blanket throws…makeup and flowers. All those things are very nice and I’m sure any mom would be happy to receive as a gift, but deep down for me I think most moms merely want to feel loved and appreciated by their children…to spend time together laughing over a meal…taking a walk down memory lane raising us who are now adults and parenting our own children.

Our two moms were the kind that didn’t need fancy gifts on Mother’s Day. They were the kind that I described above…I have beautiful memories of many Sunday afternoons spending time with both of them…giving them a carefully chosen card and maybe a plant that could be enjoyed during the warm months until Fall’s colder weather takes its toll on plants and flowers.

Yes, I don’t know why I kept this Mother’s Day flier. Designed to entice me into purchasing a gift from an array of items, it has provoked loving memories of two moms in my life and now–forever–added grief as I miss them very much..wish I could hear their voices one more time…hear my mother-in-law’s laugh….visit with both of them over delicious Sunday evening meals…joining with millions of other people who are also celebrating the special spot in our hearts reserved for our mothers….a special spot we think will always be there, ready to take in all the beautiful aspects of who our moms are…what they mean to us…a spot that was once living and active is now a treasure box of memories accumulated over the years…

This morning my good husband worked on adjusting the tracks for the drawers in my clothing chest. The small repair didn’t go quite as smoothly as he had anticipated. Yesterday, he had to adjust the Lazy Susan cabinet in our kitchen that holds baking supplies, coffee and snacks…that didn’t go very well either, taking more time and patience than he had in mind. Adjusting things seems to be a theme in our home this week and provoked my writing imagination about the very word…Adjustments. 

With the retirement of my husband from his varied careers from age 16 to present, we’ve been “adjusting” as friends describe the process…one friend even says, bathed in a chuckle, “learning how to dance”…you know, moving in sync with your partner…gliding across the floor without stumbling or falling over your feet. Yes, we are “adjusting” which made me ask myself this question–”Just how or what circumstances caused us a necessity to adjust?” In the interest of space here’s a bulleted list that came to my mind–and they may not all be in the proper order.

• Marriage in 1980
• Moved to new area of our State
• Birth of our children in 1983 & 1987
• High school & college graduations for both kids
• Loss of parents & two brothers
• Job Changes
• Surgeries & Illnesses
• 2020 Lockdowns
• Retirement in 2022

And with the last item…we are learning “new” adjustments…discovering idiosyncrasies that “bug us”…(argh) Admittedly, being together almost 24/7 has its beauty as well as challenges. Thankfully the good side of our new chapter in life is outweighing the downside of things.

We’ve had some minor spats. But we’ve also quickly apologized when necessary.

We’ve had more time to spend with family and friends. Being available at the spur of the moment has advantages.

We’ve changed how income is now generated for us. A steady paycheck or two has been replaced by Social Security benefits and my husband’s part time job.

Our aged bodies require a bit more rest, a break from tasks, a new medication here and there, more candles on birthday cakes.

We’re still really “new” in this gig called retirement but we’re making it. We’re learning how to share living space…balancing household duties…respecting needs for privacy or desiring conversations–except during a favorite program we’re watching….that’s still a bit of contention but certainly not a deal breaker for either of us to get real cranky and create another minor spat…

Adjustments come in a wide variety of circumstances during a lifetime. Most are natural. Some are unintentional or a complete surprise. All are opportunities to react or respond….

Distraction comes easy for me. They can come in a variety of forms such as getting caught up in a movie….decluttering a drawer which leads to investigating every drawer in the house to purge junk….scrolling through apps on my phone….gazing out the window on a quiet sunny afternoon. Today, I had my day semi planned…clean the bathrooms, go for a walk, sit down to email an article to our local newspaper and then write my weekly blog. While each of those tasks HAVE been completed, I did have an enjoyable distraction for part of my day beginning at lunch time. Our 3 year old grandson came to stay with Ah-ma for a couple hours while his mom attended a meeting. So, some of my tasks were delayed which was certainly okay with me and admittedly, sitting down to write wasn’t at the top of my goals….I wasn’t truly “feeling” like I wanted or could pen some words today that would inspire or encourage.

But, here I am. And to my surprise, thoughts are flowing…words are falling into complete sentences…the heaviness that was trying to weigh me down and distract me from writing has been lifted by the short company of a busy lil guy….

After our lunch, we donned our jackets and went outside to play. Well, he began playing by himself in the sandbox…I took one look at the hot bed, sighing over the healthy weeds growing in one portion of the beautiful black dirt…made my way to the garage for gloves and garden shovel….about 10 minutes later I had a bucket full of pulled weeds and raked the black dirt smooth. By now, our lil guy was on another adventure of his own and I began to get itchy to go for a walk (exercise is on my daily “to do” list)…

Thankfully, when I suggested we go for a walk, my lil guy was more than happy to oblige and as soon as our feet hit the subdivision road he squealed “Ah-ma, let’s race” and off running he went, lil legs going faster than I could ever hope for at my gramma age….but, thankfully–again–he stopped at a crack in the road and declared “I win!”

We made our way down the road at a nice pace. Every so often we stopped as something caught his attention….whether a rock or tree…a loud motorcycle coming from a nearby road…a plane overhead. It doesn’t take much to distract a toddler and when things do, I’m quick to remember that he’s learning and soaking up new experiences. In my world of familiarity, everything is becoming “new” to him….

Thankfully–again!–he didn’t hesitate or argue when I told him it was time to “turn back”…Even though we were essentially retracing our steps on the way home, he was seeing alphabet letters formed by the tar patch in cracks ….”Look!  A “W”….”  he also counted squares that the tar made…rocks he collected were first used to “repair a hole” in the pavement, but soon made their way into Ah-Ma’s pockets to take home.

I needed a joyful distraction today from recent worries and heavy thoughts filling my head and weighing down my heart. I’m thankful that a lil guy who is still learning and discovering our big world came to spend a couple hours which became a good dose of medicine for an aching mind and soul. 

He’s gone home now. The toys have been put away. The rocks he found and brought inside to “push with his toy bulldozer” have been returned to a flower bed. All evidence of his short visit has been removed…except for the warm memories etched in my mind and heart. I’m keeping those…..

Scariest thoughts and words have begun coming out of my mouth….”we’re at that age….” you know, the “age” we scoffed at when we were in our 20’s living on top of the world…you know, when we could see our toes when looking down a lean frame and even touch them while bending over with ease….body parts didn’t sag….being close to a bathroom wasn’t a necessity unless we were partying to our hearts content or beyond….and probably most concerning is  noting that all my healthcare providers are now the ages of our children….being a “senior” definitely seems to have arrived by all appearances and quite frankly–I’m not ready. I’m not feeling it.

In a previous blog I wrote about my husband’s heart attack that happened January 31. The experience has given us wake up calls, a new level of gratitude, and a list of changes to our lifestyle–mainly nutrition and exercise. Today, my good husband attended his cardio rehabilitation orientation meeting and I tagged along. As I sat in the room full of exercise equipment I found myself making several observations.

• You know how workout gyms have mirrors on every wall? I think that’s so wanna be gorgeous athletes can admire themselves while lifting weights or making sure cute tight workout clothes are accentuating all the right curves. There’s one mirror in the rehab room. I think most people use it to comb their hair or put on lipstick.
• Speaking of cute tight workout clothes that young gals wear so well? Not the case. What I saw were comfy leggings or capris…sweatpants…jeans…

Curves are still there, but well, let’s be honest…the curves have taken on new twists and turns…

• Adorable pony tails or neatly braided hair seem to be popular with young women who are breaking out in a sweat. The only pony tail I saw today was that of a guy who probably came out of the tail end of the hippie era…his pony tail was neatly tucked in the band of his cap…all gray hair, too.
• While most of the gyms are filled with teens and young adults, this place obviously caters to the “over 50 crowd”…only the rehab technicians are young enough to be our kids…

Today was a good experience. We were treated well with great kindness and respect. I can tell already that the folks who come to rehab several times a week are sort of a family. I guess that’s bound to happen considering we were reminded that my husband will attend sessions for 18 weeks–2 to 3 times a week…that’s a lot of work with a lot of people connecting.

Today I met “Miss Esther”. She’s 91 and all of 4’4”. I loved her spunk, her smile, her honesty wondering why she’s “still here”. “Miss DeeDee” was the one to speak up and remind her that “God has a plan for you Esther; he’s got a plan for each one of us”….loved Miss Esther’s response…”Well, the devil’s scared of me and God isn’t ready for me yet I guess”.

Yup, no fancy wall to wall mirrors. No young strong athletic bodies roaming the room from machine to machine. Merely one mirror, two TVs in opposite corners, monitoring equipment for each patient…all there to care for those of us who are “at that age”…and you know what? We’re thankful we’ve made it this far with much more life to live ahead of us!…aged curves…gray hair and all.