Friday, May 11, 2012

When I'm old...

The old lady I want to be someday has a face wrinkled by kindness. She'll kiss you on the cheek or the top of your head. She calls you Sweetie and Honey but you don't mind it from her. Her hugs don't stop early: she lets go last. Her hand on your arm says it's okay with authority. Affection doesn't embarrass her; neither do you. She's soft enough for kids to sleep on and "has a way" with babies. She loves God, her family, and cooking for you. Her house smells like a hug and is always just so; you can stop by for a glass of lemonade if you need to talk and she'll never act put out. She crochets afghans and baby blankets and gives you the truth about that haircut whether you like it or not. She'll pray for you. Hard. (And her prayers get shit done.) Call her? She'll come. Fall asleep? She'll cover you. She knows that insides matter most, and that loving is messy business. She's in it for good. She knows what to tell you if you get hurt, burned, or make a bad choice. She walks each morning as the sun comes up, and knows all the neighbors. She can sew, and craft, and grow things. People call her for help when they get stuck in the middle of recipes. She will let you control the remote, but she loves to fall asleep in her chair while watching old movies. She leaves surprises on your doorstep. She naps. She never forgets a birthday. She's patient. And loving. And fearless.

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