August 21, 2014

So this is what it feels like to be 65. Yup. Today I woke up with a new number, and well, I’m thinking it’s just that—a number. Sure, I don’t bounce out of bed like I might’ve a few years ago, rather, it’s more of an ease-out now, but other than that, it’s pretty much the same process: Plod to the necessary-room, wash the face and hands, squeeze a length of toothpaste on the toothbrush, and, as I brush, peer into the mirror—now there’s the shocker. The girl I see in my minds-eye doesn’t look a bit like that image in the mirror! There’s still something vaguely familiar, but oh dear—we just won’t go there. Suffice it to say I’m fully awake after that!

On the upside, everything still works—bones, joints, muscles, and brain—I think. Those who know me best may beg to differ, but in all graciousness they keep their doubts to themselves.

Guess I’ve learned a few things along the journey, so maybe I’m a tad bit wiser? I can only hope. There are some things that I know for sure though. I know God loves me and I love Him, and He has blessed me for 65 eventful years—over and over again. I know that life lessons have shown me repeatedly that the most important things are loving others and being grateful for each and every blessing, not just day-by-day, but moment-by-moment.

On a lighter note, I have to tell you about a special little blessing from MouseHouse this early morning—you knew that was coming, right? (Have to give my daughter, Tracey some credit here—and her vision of the MouseHouse gang celebrating my birthday. Amazing how this wee furry family is creeping into so many hearts these days! And it’s rather fun, I might add.)

Well Fivelina brought the twins across the road to the Blueberry Farm last week, to harvest the inevitable dropped berries left behind after all the pickers were done. She brought basket after basketful home, thankful for the now-dry culvert running under the road giving her safe-passage along with two mischievous little ones trailing behind, each carrying a berry or two in their tiny baskets. She washed and sliced, pared and diced, then laid the blueberry pieces out to dry before carefully storing them for winter treats. Trieste and Tatiana helped. Well, sort of. Blue noses and whiskers were testament to the importance of their job—tasters.

Well, this morning, there was a bit of commotion on Downspout Timber as I settled in my chair on BackPorch. Then all of a sudden a parade of mouselings and their dainty mom appeared at Railing Edge, each bearing a tiny plate with one very tiny blueberry tart. Fivelina led the way. With her prompting they all broke out in the sweetest high-pitched rendition of Happy Birthday you ever did hear, Bic and Ben’s voices bringing up the bass notes in impressive harmony.

Fivelina then shyly presented me with a tiny grass-woven basket, not much bigger than a thimble, covered in white eyelet, a pink ribbon on the handle. I lifted the wee cover, and there inside was the sweetest reclaimed rosebud brooch—just the right size to adorn the clasp of a lace collar.

“Oh dear Fivelina! Wherever did you find something so precious! Thank you! I love it.”
She smiled demurely. “I’m glad you like it, M’lady…” she curtsied. I hope you have a wonderful birthday, and please… enjoy these little blueberry tarts. I know blueberry is your favorite.”

Well, as you can imagine, it made my day! Yup, I think I’ll do just fine with this new number… and just think, I can be as imaginative as I wish and folks with raised-eyebrows can merely chock it up to my advancing age!