Washing Undies

     Yesterday I was using a public restroom when I noticed my panties were on inside out. This is not a common problem, but it has happened often enough for me to recognize a pattern. I think there are three basic responses to that situation that categorize you as a person. Why not?  Facebook says it can divine personalities by color preference, musical taste, toe length, etc. Though I am rarely willing to waste the time to take those tests, I have found the ones I have taken to be wildly inaccurate, unless they say really flattering things, then they are gospel. Or I answer the questions until I get to one where none of the answers would be my response. Those are inaccurate before I even finish them. So here are my personality categories for panty waists.

1)  It won't wash:  This is the Type A response. Inside out underwear are nonnegotiable. These women will take off shoes, pants, (maybe even pantyhose) right there in the public restroom, reverse the panties, redress. Life is good.

2)  Wishy washy:  This is my response. Yes, it really bothers me that my underwear are inside out, but it would bother me more to know someone outside of the stall could see or hear me taking my shoes, pants, (never pantyhose) off while sitting on the toilet. As soon as we got home, however, I stripped, fixed my skivvies and order returned to my world.

3)  It'll all come out in the wash:  This is literally true. Underwear get clean no matter which way we wear them or how they go into the washer. Women like this see the bungled bloomers, but don't consider changing them worth the bother. They go with the flow. I wish I could be like those let it all hang inside out ladies, but my underwear and I are just not designed that way.

    I will probably not submit this personality test to Facebook, even though it meets their criteria of being totally unscientific. Nevertheless, I think it is a good, real world demonstration of basic temperament. It is at least as accurate as the ones where you pick your favorite flowers, or foods, or dog breeds, or paintings or an entire laundry list of variables. A lot of those assessments are total wash outs.

 

No One is Looking

   There is a certain freedom that comes with being in your 60's. It's not that I no longer care how I look. It's that most other people don't care how I look. For instance, Reed and I went on a boat tour on a sunny Saturday in Gig Harbor and I got a farmer tan--a short sleeved shirt composed of pasty white skin. Even before bingo flaps, I had lots more short sleeved tops than sleeveless, so this is a common occurrence. Years ago, having a two-toned tan would have really bothered me, but it's no big deal now because I realized, no one is looking. Age not only confers (or at least increases the odds for) wisdom, it is also a magic invisibility cloak.You become just another old person. Younger generations barely glance at us and older generations do not care about farmer tans. I am free to let myself go. That is not my intention, but my body is going for it nonetheless.            
     I am, I confess, prone to vanity. I still check the beauty sections of my magazines, but their recommendation for women in their 60's and up is less is more. I have long known that too much makeup on young girls makes them look even younger and too much on older women makes them look older. And for both groups, rather pathetic. When my dear friend, DJ, asked me to pick up an eyelash curler for her when she was in her mid 80's, I conveniently kept forgetting. By that time, she couldn't see well enough to use one, her eyelids rested on top of her lashes, she hardly had any lashes left, and the curler could break off the few that remained. I indulged her when she wasted her precious shopping money on overpriced items, but I drew the line at an eyelash curler. Her beautician also indulged her by dying her hair black and styling it in the top-of-the-head bun she had worn since girlhood. She was unwilling to change even though that style revealed her white roots sooner and the elastic band made her thinning hair brittle. Only in assisted living did a beautician convince her to wear it lighter and shorter. Though by that time she was 90, the new "do" made her look years younger. Which was convenient, because, as her memory failed, she thought she was years younger.
     I knew, with my black hair, blue eyes combo, I would gray early. I did not mind the salt and pepper look when I was in my 30's and could describe myself as prematurely gray. But I started coloring it at 40 and am having a hard time deciding when to bring the "maturely" gray hair out of hiding. My beautician has hinted through subtle stories about other clients that it would make me look 20 years older. And she is not just saying that so I will keep using her services. She is semi-retired and charges $40 when most places charge $60 and here in Gig Harbor, over $100.
     Another reason right now would not be a good time to change my stripes is because our one year old granddaughter gets freaked out when her own parents alter their appearance by wearing a hat. I'm afraid she wouldn't recognize me if my hair color suddenly changed. The other reason I keep putting off coming out as gray is that I am afraid of my hair. When the gray grows out, I can't get the roots to lift. In my case, stubborn gray does not mean it won't absorb dye, it means it won't cooperate with styling. The roots are hard enough to work with, a whole head full of the stuff would be a nightmare.
     Due to a knee problem, I joined the ministry of funny walks long ago. I don't know when I will reach the age of wearing unmatched clothes, socks with sandals, etc. But those things go unnoticed under the senior invisibility cloak. If I want to turn heads at my age, I just need to start wearing too much makeup, black hair, or junior girls' clothing styles. The rest of the time, I can relax because no one is looking.

Things You Realize in Later Life

• There is no way to suck in your breasts.
• Being gimpy opens doors for you. Literally. Go with it.
• It is okay for other people to be not like you. Be thankful for it.
• Life is too short to nurse a grudge.
• If you really want to reach people, share your failures.
• What works for you does not work for everybody. There's no formula.
• Don't worry about what other people think about you, they seldom do.
• Have the grace to listen to people you disagree with. You may learn something.
• You are not powerful enough to mess up God's plans.
• Worry implies God is not good enough, or not powerful enough, to take care of you.
• There is no such thing as hypothetical grace. God gives us what we need, when we need it.
• Don't compare your insides with other people's outsides.
• Reading the Bible does not change your life.
• Studying the Bible does not change your life.
• Applying the Bible changes your life.
• When you pray for someone you don't like, God changes your heart, not theirs.
• When you discourage someone, you are playing on Satan's team.
• Don't take yourself too seriously. No one else does.
• Tears and laughter are the best stress relievers.
• Age spots show God has blessed you with long years and sunshine.
• God has got this, keep your eyes on Him.

The Transmigration of the Body

     From time to time much attention is given to the idea of transmigration of the soul. The belief that souls, both human and animal, leave their bodies at death and are reborn in another form. Adherents are going to be desperately disappointed when they die and discover instead of reincarnation they face eternal damnation. Multiple lifetimes would only give us more opportunities to condemn ourselves. We can never get it right spiritually. But what I am concerned about is the transmigration of the body.
     In the 40 plus years we have been married, Reed and I have shared a lot of things, a few of which are homes, beds, and as a consequence, children. I don't mind sharing, but the part where they say married couples begin to look alike is where I draw the line. We are not out of shape. Round is a shape. But he has his way of being well rounded and I have mine. So we are both fervently hoping the looking alike thing is not true, but perhaps we are sharing traits. Neither of us have waist lines anymore. Both of us have wrinkles, age spots and boobs. And in time, both of us will have mustaches. What makes me suspicious of body migration is that as my eyebrows have thinned, Reed's have thickened. His eyebrows have grown to Gandalf proportions while mine have shriveled to wimpy wisps. I can only conclude that during the night, for some traitorous reason, mine have been migrating to my husband's face. My weight, joints, skin and hair have already betrayed me, and now they have apparently enlisted my eyebrows. Although even middle aged men become victims of their own hair migration. Hair leaves their head and finds a new home in their ears, nose and brows. Reed's chest hair is now longer than he ever wore it on his head. For a formal occasion, I could braid it.
     The only place my soul will migrate to after I die is heaven. My body is the part that gets the redo, and I get happier about that every day.


 

Senior Moments

• When you find yourself saying, "Where did all this extra stuff come from?" and you're looking at your body, not your house.
• When your phone can find your keys and your keys can find your phone, and you can't find either one.
• When things go missing like your muscles, energy, waistline, hair/hair color.
• When the TV channels you prefer to watch mostly advertise reverse mortgages, walk-in tubs and incontinence supplies. 
• When you start paying attention to those commercials.
• When they give you the senior discount without even asking.
• When you have to make up in hand rail what you lack in knees.
• When your childhood lunchbox is in the antique store, along with the cookie jar you're still using.
• When you realize you ARE the old people you used to leave close parking spaces for.
• When you and your spouse hold hands and people say, "Aw, look at that.", like when the ring bearer and flower girl hold hands at a wedding. 

I'm Getting Way Too Much Out of my Bible Study

I get sad when I read of the death of Moses or Joshua even though I know they are in heaven and I can reread their stories anytime I want. It's not like I have to take my Bible back to the library. It is just that I have enjoyed our time together and now we will walk separate paths for a while.

I also get sad when I reach John chapter 12 because the remaining chapters are shadowed by the cross and I'm not ready for Jesus to leave yet.

I got annoyed with God for empowering undeserving judges to deliver the undeserving  Israelites from their enemies until I realized He had also delivered unworthy me.

I got a hit of endorphins from Judges 11 where Jephthah, an outcast, but mighty, bastard, is called on by his people to save his nation. Sounds familiar. I wonder how Jephthah wore his hair?

I also got the connection between the Ammonites and the Palestinians. In Judges 11, the Ammonites ask Israel to give back Ammon's historic land even though God took it from them for being cruel to Jews in their wilderness wanderings. Btw Ammon had not bothered to reclaim it during the 300 years it was occupied by other nations before the Jews conquered it. At least the Ammonites had a king who could rule it. Palestinians? not so much. Jephthah suggested they ask their god for land. Palestinians ask the U.N.

The Lord, as the Angel of the Lord, made a personal appearance and miraculous promise to Samson's mother and her name never appears in the text. Would she be happy about that? relieved? First mention of prenatal diet instructions, being a Nazirite from the womb meant beginning at conception, not birth.

Her husband, Manoah, who heard all the same instructions and promises, still thought they were going to die for seeing the Lord. A sensible wife reassuring her doubting husband. That seems familiar too.

In chapter 14, I got for the first  time how close Samson was to his parents. The words father or mother and father are in the chapter 8 times in 20 verses. He shares his honey with them (although not its gross origin), wants their involvement in his wedding (although that was also customary), justifies not telling his bride the riddle answer because he hasn't even told his parents, goes back home after his bride's betrayal. And what kind of sucky guests threaten the bride on her honeymoon?

     Now that our son is staying sober, and I'm not coming to the Bible like a starving leech, I can enjoy the more subtle textures and flavors of the passages. I feel like we are nearing the end of this time of testing, so I can apply more than just the first aid of wisdom and encouragement. My Bible study is no longer just life support, it is a feast. Frankly, Judges has never excited me before. It is richer and more applicable than I remembered, and I hope I can continue getting way too much out of it.

"Be"ing

     I am by nature task oriented. I get a great deal of satisfaction from making and crossing off lists. Long before my kids knew their days of the week, they knew about cookie making day, sheet changing day, shopping day, house cleaning day. My morning prayers were a recitation of my plans for the day with an addendum requesting God's blessing. When my children began school, I exchanged some of those home routines for volunteering there. I had a long schedule then. It often necessitated packing the car in the morning with everything my kids and I would need for the whole day. Snacks. Band instruments. Sports equipment. My BSF lesson to work on during practice. (This was in the olden days before cell phones were common.) As the kids began to leave home, I noticed there were still cookies left on baking day, I didn't need as many groceries, the house was not necessarily dirty in a week. The rope of routine that held my life together became stretched and frayed.
    When I added part time work to my schedule, it made up for some of my lost home routine. My lists now became about places I needed to go before and after work: errands, the gym, etc. Even when we traveled and I had the day to spend however I pleased, I made a schedule for myself, so the time would not feel wasted.
     We have been traveling a lot lately and I have begun to learn the art of "be"ing. I have learned it is okay to sit in the sun and think. About God. About life. My prayers have become less about lists and more about listening. When it is a beautiful, sunny day at home, I can't sit outside for long without feeling guilty about something that's not getting done inside--not that I necessarily do the things that need doing, but the odds improve when I'm in the house. However when we travel, there are no cleaning tasks calling my name, no dinners to plan. Why do  I feel like I'm wasting time when I  enjoy the beautiful place God gave me to live? It is a gift I barely glance at as I move on to other things.
     There is nothing wrong with being organized, it is the way God made me and it has come in handy when our families celebrate special events. But the older I get, the more I understand that God is not particularly interested in my plans. He is more concerned about what's in my heart than what's on my calendar. I should at least give God the time and attention I willingly give to Facebook. If I want to become like Christ, I must spend time thinking about who He is. And if  that is the only task I accomplish in this life, well, I'll be.