Blooming Idio(syncra)cy

Okay class, let's see how observant you are. Can anyone tell me what is different in my blogger profile as of today?

Hmm?

Look closely...

You might miss it...

Here's a hint: It's at the end.

That's right; I am now officially fifty-ONE years young.

Actually my birthday was back on September 26th but it sort of got lost in the juggernaut that was the Cherry Country shawl. In my haste to finish, I let the date go by...

But I promised you honesty, so I have updated the profile, in the true spirit of "truth in advertising."

Fifty-one years. Whew. I don't feel that old. Well, maybe my body does, but my spirit?

No way.

On the other hand, would I go back if I could?

No way.

I may not love my laugh lines, but I love the laughter that put them there.

I may not love the crinkles in the corner of my eye, but at least I turned my face to the sun enough times to get them.

I may not love the double chin that appears whenever I look down, but I love the hand and heart work that necessitates it.

I may not love the expanding waistline, but I love the warmth of soulful feasts prepared by loving hands, and shared with friends and family.

I may not love the hot flashes, but I love the feminine miracle of bringing life into this world that goes along with it.

I may not love the forgetfulness, but I love the rich memories that have shoved lesser thoughts aside, making more room for the sacred and the profound in my life.

I may not love the stiffness, but I love the way it has made me slow down and take notice of what I missed when I was younger.

I may miss the bloom occasionally, but the fruit that came out of it is worth more than all the flowers in the world.

So DON'T bloom where you are planted.

Bear fruit.