Tonight I'm pondering what I will be like when I'm old. There are two underlying assumptions here: first, that I'm not old yet; second, that I will have to live long enough to get old which I'm not yet. I already wear purple and have a red hat, so that is moot.
I will still love and rescue animals. Heaven only knows how many more kittens Jethro will rescue, but I can't imagine myself ever being without animals. I don't mind being known as a crazy cat-and-dog lady. I'm bipetual.
I will knit as long as my hands hold out, than I'll learn how to use my feet. I'll probably still knit socks in public, cause fascination and consternation, and not care a bit.
I will be eating racist PBJs and drinking black-market raw milk. And possibly sitting on my illegal rain barrel with the Confederate flag painted on the side. I will not be anywhere remotely near politically correct.
I will still love barbecue and Delta Blues. And yes, there is some kind of organic connection between the two. And I will still talk like this. I won't ever pick up this funny Midwest accent, no matter how long I live here. And, speaking of that, I intend to keep living here. Bob will still take care of my car, Lana will deal with my hair, I'll still drive an hour to see Joe for primary care. I'll bank at Farmers State and shop at the pharmacy. I'll leave this town in the back of Yeager's hearse.
I'll still have a vast fund of nursing horror stories to tell anybody with the stomach to listen. I'll still be a story-teller. I hope I won't drive people crazy telling the same ones over and over, but there's a good possibility of it.
I'll still wear jeans, peasant tops, and bandanas. So there. And most of the people that know me will still think I don't wear enough make-up and I wear my skirts too long, just like Mama always did.
I'll still love college basketball and any football. I don't know if I'll ever be able to get back into baseball. I haven't been able to since you died.
I'll have the windows open when it makes other people think I'm crazy. Car and house, I love the windows open.
And I will still be your widow. I will never be wife to anyone else. I'm yours. You're stuck with me. Maybe, as I get older, people will stop pushing me to remarry and guys will stop hitting on me. I do hope so. I will love you with all my heart, no less than I do today. And every day that passes brings me closer to being reunited with you. I will still be waiting and hopeful, as long as I'm in this life. I'm glad you are waiting for me, too.
Well, there's your summary of my thoughts today. See what you're going to miss as I get older? The only thing I'll be missing is you. I wish we could get old together. But I know you're watching, sometimes laughing, always loving me. Thank you for that.
Keep the light on,