Spring Has Sprung

We had a sweet weekend. I told Ken I felt like it was Old Home Week, where we had company over (I actually cooked, good ole country cooking, with beans and a hamhock, cornbread slathered with butter, slaw, sweet tea and peach cobbler). We hugged nine of our ten grandbabies (got to grab up that tenth one soon), went to church and had a fellowship meal afterwards with lots of awesome people, breathed in some freshly-mown-lawn-air, and slept like teenagers. Tonight, we drove over to Newnan to see three of those grandbabies, hung out on the porch at Cracker Barrel for an hour or two, then drove home with the stained-glass of a sunset spilling all around us. I thought I might marry that man all over again. Full of food and thought, you don't have to say much after all of that. His big, rough, craggy hand covered mine like an old bear's over a pine knob. Sometimes I'm mad at him for no reason at all, then other times I love the stuffin' out of him. It's not fair, not ever. Getting old is for the birds. I'm not admitting to it, I'm just saying... It hurts, it's grumpy, it can seem hopeless and like you're going down a road with no return. Well, you are. You thought you could just decide one day you'd lose some weight or start exercising and then you'd feel better. Well then, you do that and then you see that, phooey, you're too late. Or maybe it wasn't the weight all along, you were just getting old all along. I always blamed it on the fat. 

Either way, since apparently I'm stuck with this body until Jesus comes back or I take my dirt nap, my only alternative is to laugh. And maybe roll around in the surf, if I can get anyone to agree to bring a come-a-long to help pull me out. I remembered in the last day or two how much that ole' boy makes me laugh, and how silly I am to hold the stupid stuff against him. The Bible says in Ecclesiastes all kinds of things about seasons and toils and trouble, but it also talks about enjoying your spouse and the sunshine and the wine and all that. We could spend our days crabby and hoping for our wrinkles to undo themselves, but I'm thinking we better just slap a coat of paint on it, get to cuddling and head on out to the porch.