Today, my mother has officially lived 95 years. Yesterday, a group of loving friends celebrated her with a birthday tea. It was fun listening to her talk about her life, particularly her years as a young woman. Mom is still mentally sharp so she relayed stories of her youth as if it was yesterday.
She said she didn't mind getting older. After all, it's what we all do. But she asked, "Why do we have to get ugly in the process? When did my 40-year-old mind get attached to the old woman I see in the mirror?" How ironic Mom does not realize it is her "living" that gives her her beauty.
Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. Time. It stops for no man (or woman). It's incessant, unrelenting and unstoppable. We can take our allotted gift of time and make the most of it, or squander our fortune away. It is measurable. It is finite. It is beautiful. I want to be beautiful in "my" time just like Mom is.
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