Here's to us!

Now that I am back at the gym, albeit moving slowly and for not long (but going further and faster each day) it seems to be an appropriate time to post the second poem I stole from who knows where. This one was written by Lillian Glenn from Brandon, Manitoba. Even though I was assured by my young female surgeon, and by all my even younger female caregivers during my surgery and hospital stay that I am young, I still feel this poem applies to me, and is a celebration of being the age I am and of continuing to do whatever is needed to be as healthy as I can be. Also, I am so grateful to be able to continue going to the gym. Even though I go to the workout room and not to the pool, this poem expresses how I feel and how I feel about all my great friends who, no matter what the number says, are still young!

Old Women at Play

At the Y pool we gather,
Withery old women,
"Be-damned-and-go-to-hell" women.

Laughing sassy dames,
"Forgot your name" dames,
Bold, amazing dames.

In the locker room we undress,
Unashamed of our droopiness,
Our wrinkles, and our sagginess.
We chatter, tease, and share our news,
Then tell the latest racy tale.
We banter, joke, bitch, and amuse.

We're tired of taking things,
Just hate inserting things,
Sick of rubbing on things.

The sleek young women roll their eyes,
Shocked, disgusted by our openness,
Embarassed by our flabbiness.

We are graceful in the water,
Spirits rising, moving lightly,
Floating gracefully, noiselessly.

For an hour we feel release,
Freed from heaviness
And our fate of achiness.

We laugh and grieve together;
Outrageous women,
Courageous women.

Old age is for the old, we say;
Only we can bear it,
With life's experience, embrace it.

We rise from the water,
Proud and daring women,
Brave, surviving women.


Thanks Lillian!

Happy Anniversary to You!

To my sister and her husband, who are vacationing in sunny Florida (where I will be before too long!) - HAPPY ANNIVERSARY! You are catching up to us!
Wish I could say this was an early tulip from my garden, but it is much too cold here for that. This one is from our local store, but still gives us hope that spring is not too far away.

Or does it just feel that way?

Being at home and somewhat housebound with more energy returning every day has enabled me to explore some corners of the house which have been neglected. Today I came across a couple of poems from a magazine called "Good Times". I can't remember where or when I came across this magazine, but whenever that was I tore (stole) this page of poems out, and tucked it away. With thanks to Carol A. Cole of Surrey, B.C., here is the first one.

A Grandmother's Paradise

Celtic flute music floats from the kitchen
and the sweet smell of pancakes is promising.
A gentle summer breeze enters through the open door.
I can see the wild orange and yellow poppies
growing against the neighbour's house.
My little grandson is asleep on my lap,
his head nestled against my chest.
Am I in heaven
or does it just feel that way?

The second one will follow in time, but it is totally different, and I want those who read this blog to appreciate this one fully first. I know you can understand why I took it home with me!

Oh Happy Day!

Thank you to everyone who said a prayer, sent a positive thought, made lasagna, lent a book or movie, brought me coffee, called my husband, hugged my kids and grandkids, cried a tear, and felt our distress in one way or another and responded. We had a great day today with the best pathology report one could have, and an outcome probably without further medical intervention other than check ups. I am so grateful for each and every one of you! You have helped to make this day possible!