Grandma's Tattoo

 I did it! I actually really did the audacious thing I’d dared myself to do. And I have bodily proof.

But let me back up. This month is a milestone in my life. I turn 80. I always thought 80 was really old. I’m now having to reconsider my criteria of what makes old. At any rate, it’s a special time. As I was thinking about how I could celebrate in a new way, to mark a new phase of life, the idea of getting a tattoo flew into my brain. Seemingly from nowhere. This has never been an ambition. In fact, I remember a time in my younger years when, to my mind, only Hell’s Angels and juvenile delinquents got tattoos. Scary tattoos at that.

Maybe it’s because my daughter and several of my granddaughters have recently gotten tattoos. And they are lovely—not scary at all. Works of art actually.

But at 80? That was Hal’s reaction when I passed the idea by him. He was not at all positive. Not because he thought it was wrong but because he thought it might be dangerous. Cause excessive bleeding. Bring on infection with life-changing consequences. Well—I might be exaggerating a little, but he definitely was dubious. But Hal is generous enough to respect me as I work through my own decisions.

I did a little research on tattoos and the elderly and found that it was not widely recommended, but that it depended on the older person involved. It might be fine if the person were in good health and had a fairly firm patch of skin on which to do the job. But even then, recovery might take more time. The mention of recovery gave me pause.

But I didn’t pause for long. I consulted with my granddaughter Alandra as she had several tattoos and would know how to go about it. And she would know who could do it safely and artistically. She responded with excitement, thought it was a cool 80^th birthday present, offered to find a place and then accompany me. Plus, she would get a tattoo at the same time. That really got me going.

It happened on Saturday, just a few days ago. We made a day of it. Alandra and her boyfriend Ben took Hal and me out to lunch at an Italian restaurant. Good food and great conversation, a time to get to know Ben better. Then a little later the same afternoon, Alandra picked me up and we drove to the home of a friend who is an experienced tattoo artist. She works from her living room. The atmosphere was peaceful and homey, the music soft.

We decided I should go first, to get the nervous part over quickly. The first task was to find the right place. I had already chosen the lower part of my left leg. I found a spot that was firm, with no varicose veins anywhere near. It took a while to find exactly the right position, but since it was “forever” that was important. Then came the actual tattooing. It hurt, but no more than I had imagined. Alandra got me reminiscing about how Hal and I got together and that helped pass the time.

It took about 40 minutes, and then it was Alandra’s turn. We had decided to get matching tattoos, which made the whole adventure that much more fun.

I chose a daisy and Alandra found just the right image. The daisy is one of my favorite flowers because it seems so happy. It’s beautiful in its own small way. Also, it’s rather ordinary and common. You can find wild daisies in so many places. That increases its value to me. The daisy was our wedding flower.

Long ago I named my vocation as a writer “to discover and express the grace of God hidden in the ordinariness of life.” The daisy symbolizes this.

Now I’m processing the whole adventure. Why did I want a tattoo in the first place? So that I could seem cool to my grandkids? No, not really, although that’s a fun consequence. To defy age, to say that turning 80 is no big deal? No, I don’t think so. I’m trying to embrace my age and the stage of life I happen to be in. I’m trying to see all the positives, although I’m not always successful. I have my bad days. My body complains more than it used to. But still, this is where I am and I am determined to make the best of it.

Part of why I did it is simply because I love beauty and art in its many expressions. And because I love daisies.

But more than that, I think it’s because I desired to do something totally new, to take a risk, to do something unlike what I’ve ever even considered doing before. “Sing a new song,” the psalmist says. In Christ, all things become new, the Apostle Paul tells us. God’s mercies are new every morning; that’s Jeremiah. New means refreshing, invigorating, creative. I’m asking the Spirit of God to do something new in my life this year, something that goes way beyond getting a tattoo.

We’re never too old for new.

Yes! to the movements of the Spirit!

Yes! to tattoos!