It's in the genes, baby, it's in the genes

The joys of growing old far outweigh the sorrows.  If you are a faithful follower of my blog you know I frequently poke fun at myself about growing old.  It's a hoot.  Every day is a new adventure. 

Remember a couple of days ago, I started the microwave and forgot to put my coffee mug in to warm up.  Well, today I put a coffee mug into the microwave, it warmed the coffee, but I obviously got distracted because I never returned to the oven to retrieve  it.  It was late afternoon when I discovered the mug full of cold coffee, sullenly sitting where I had left it in the morning.  (Believe it or not, I re-heated it, and gulped it down to the last sip.) 

My growing old comrades, mostly my sisters, and I often commiserate over all our antics.  And have a good laugh of two.

However, over the last couple of days, I've had two good 'growing old' laughs from unexpected sources...my daughters.  One posted on Facebook that she sent some blueberry pancake mix and bottle of syrup home with one of her son's that recently moved out and added in capital letters (I might add) that perhaps she was turning into her mother.  Of course she is!

Then, earlier in the week I was having a conversation with another daughter, and as our conversation was winding down, she interjected that she had had the 'hand experience'.

Not sure what she was getting at, I inquired what 'hand experience'?  She related to me the story I had told years ago about how I had put my hand into a sleeve, but that my mother's hand came out.  Even today I remember what a mind blowing, utterly shocking day that was.  Apparently, my daughter had just had that experience.  I posted under Blueberry Pancake Mix daughter her sister's experience.

So, later today I was not really surprised when Blueberry Pancake Mix daughter posted on Facebook that my hand has been coming out of her sleeves for quite a while. 

Now, I'm not exactly why these two stories brought me such joy, but they did.  I guess it's because I have come to realize I've passed the torch. They (my daughters) are going carry their torches into their growing old stages, with all kinds of shadows from their past.  Like, sharing food with their 'starting out on their own', 'money strapped' children, and, accepting wrinkled hands and crows feet.  They come from good stock, so I know they will walk the miles ahead with grace, style, wonderment, down right amazement and good humor.  Lots and lots of good humor.

Growing old is only a chore or burden if you choose it to be.  Growing old is all about attitude. 

"Laugh and the world laughs with you,
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing and the hills will answer;
Sigh it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care."

Snippet from Solitude by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.


"And though you be done to the death, what then?
If you battled the best you could,
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only how did you die?"

Snippet from How Did You Die? by Edmund Vance Cooke

How we grow old is all in the genes, baby, it's all in the genes.