Two celebrations plus a sea otter

 Celebrations restore the spirit, no matter how young or old we are. My spirit has been restored twice since my last blogpost. The celebrations span the generations. My grandson and his new wife are beginning their life of adventure in North Africa, and many of their supporters and friends gathered to pray for them as they prepare to leave us soon. And, on the other end of the age spectrum, the family gathered to celebrate my 80^th birthday. Can you imagine? Grandson and Grandma, whooping it up.

Aren and Anna were married in June and now they’re preparing for what might be a long-term adventure in a North African country, helping set up local businesses. They’re planning to travel light, and purchase locally all they need to live on which will probably be minimal. They’re very idealistic and totally committed.

Last week they invited a group of their supporters and prayer partners to a barbecue, with dishes they prepared from their new adopted country. These kids could set up a restaurant business if they wanted! Delicious food. It was a time for them to express their appreciation for all the support people have shown them. And it was a time for us to celebrate their dedication and commitment and to pray for them.

Like a typical Grandma, I couldn’t help but remember when Aren was a baby, very cute and often very serious, a determined but totally funny toddler. As he grew up, we didn’t understand what ADHD was, but when he finally received the diagnosis, all his restlessness and hyper-activity as a young boy made sense. Not that he was always restless. He showed great powers of concentration when building things, first with blocks, then graduating to Tinkertoys, Lincoln Logs, and finally to elaboration Lego constructions. Now armed with a degree in mechanical engineering (a natural!) he’s off to change the world. We couldn’t be prouder.

Then on Sunday, it was my turn.  In the middle of a sea of sunny days, this was predicted to be the one day it rained. As it turned out, the sun did his usual beautiful thing. The celebration was in a covered pavilion in a public park and four generations converged, with Hal and me being the oldies, and our two and one/half great-grand-babies bringing up the tail (and hogging most of the attention by being their adorable selves).

The day before, I mentioned to Hal at breakfast that I feared our son David was going to ask me to say some words of wisdom to the group. So I asked Hal to help me think up some wise words beforehand. We thought a while, but both of us came up blank. Then I remembered the three words. Earlier, in a time of quiet meditation, I had asked God for three words that I could live out in my 80^th year of life, something to encourage and inspire. The words that popped into my brain (or were placed there) were courage, humor, and beauty. My spirit said YES. So these are my words for 2025-2026. I’m not sure just how I will live out these words; I’ll have to let you know later. But I decided that if asked for some wise words at my party, I could toss these into the air.

It was all such a happy time and I was given the gift of a family glad to celebrate the life of this 80-year-old lady. We ate well, got caught-up on news, laughed, celebrated, and had birthday-cobbler (my not being a fan of cake). I did not have to blow out 80 candles. But I warmed my heart to more than 80 words of memories, gratitude, and celebration, all gifts from them to me. I shared my three words and my daughter added two more for me to take into the year: grace and joy. I think it will be a good year. Maybe not always easy, but good.

I encourage you to take any chance you get to celebrate life and the ones you love. Maybe even let God give you some new words to live by. It certainly makes growing old easier. Joyful even.

 

Note: I promised in the title I would say something about sea otters. By the way, this has nothing to do with the rest of the blog on celebrations. It’s just that I thought you should know that this is National Sea Otter Awareness Week. In order to become more aware of sea otters, I did some Internet research. Among other facts, I learned that Alaskan sea otters often float out to sea on thin ice rafts. If two otters float out, each on a separate raft, they hold hands (paws) to stay together. That’s inspiring. Aren’t you glad you know?

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!

Ageless birthdays

 It all started the day I turned one-year-old. My parents threw me a party. I don’t remember any of it, but I love the story they told me. My father was the high school football coach and he invited some of the varsity team to my party. They gave me a big porcelain porker (meaning a piggy bank) and then plunked in their nickels and dimes. Apparently I loved the sound and laughed out loud. Good story.

My family made a big deal out of our birthdays, making my brother, sister, and me feel very special on those very special days. We got to pick what to eat for dinner and there were, of course, cake with candles we blew out and, the best part—presents!

But my parents were not party people and the next actual birthday party I had took place years later, when I turned 12. It was a princess party, and the ten school friends I invited all dressed up as princesses. Long skirts, gauzy curtain capes, and card board crowns—we were gorgeous. All girls, of course. No boys allowed! (Times have changed. Girls seem to get crushes on boys at a younger age these days.)

That was my last birthday party as a young person. I found other ways to celebrate my special day. After Hal and I married and then began our family, it was mostly family-only celebrations, sometimes including going out to eat. Actually, with our kids, we did begin to invite their small (and then bigger) friends over. Often the whole missionary family gathered to celebrate the life of the child growing one year older.

When we lived in tropical Santa Cruz, Bolivia, other customs entered the story. On the birthday morning, our Bolivian friends gathered outside our bedroom window and woke us up with serenades. Loud and happy, accompanied by guitars, it woke up the neighbors too, but that was part of the fun. The birthday person was required to appear at the window, or at the front door, to receive the generous gift of music and friendship. Sometimes the celebrants came in for hot cocoa and pastries, bringing the goods themselves. It was a great way to start the day.

Some people seem to think that as we age, the magic of birthdays and parties diminishes. Birthdays are to be dreaded. Certainly not celebrated. One year older?! That’s scary.

Not so!

At least not for me and not for my friends around this retirement community. It feels good to be celebrated by family and friends, an affirmation that we matter, that people love and appreciate us. Who doesn’t need that kind of affirmation? Do we ever outgrow it? I haven’t.

Here on the fifth floor of the community, we have a special way of celebrating birthdays. My friend Francie creates a large colorful poster, usually featuring a baby picture of the birthday person, and the poster covers most of the apartment door. A birthday bear sits outside the door, on loan for the day. Then at an appointed hour, all the residents on the floor gather to serenade the life we are celebrating, wearing glittery crowns and other funny hats.  In addition to Happy Birthday to You, we have a series of silly birthday songs we always sing. It’s become a ritual in the positive sense of that word.

Yesterday we celebrated Francie’s 80^th birthday. Of course, no one is surprised anymore. The ritual is anticipated and sometimes we fake surprise just for the fun of it. And it’s always fun. In addition to the traditional Happy Birthday To You, we sang all verses to Blessed Be the Tie That Binds, and sensed the truth behind the words. We’re a family. And families celebrate birthdays.

No matter how old we are.

On being married to an 80-year-old

 This past weekend, Hal turned 80. It was a milestone. The last milestone was the 50^th birthday, a sense that we were now in a new phase of life. Fifty was awesome. Eighty, breathtaking. This is higher ground indeed.

We’ve heard it said that growing older is gradual, passing through three stages: young old age (roughly from retirement to 80), middle old age (80-90), and really old old age (90 to whenever). The numbers vary with different experts on the subject. I’m not sure how helpful these categories are, other than to say we both felt rather smug about being in the young/old category.

Hal and I used to ask ourselves, “Are we old yet?” We asked it upon retirement, and then again on entering the retirement community. Now, as far as Hal goes, we don’t have to ask it anymore. He’s old. Clear and simple. (Actually, none of this is clear or simple.)

On the other hand, I’m still young, in my 70s. But I have entered a new category—that of being married to an 80-year-old. Will I have to make some changes? Do I treat him differently? Are we now an unbalanced couple? Will we topple if I don’t hold up my end?

(Let me interject here the fact that many of you have already passed the 80 milestone and are probably thinking, “Why is she making such a big deal of this? It’s nothing. No major change at all.” If you’re thinking that, I respect your perspective, but, please, just humor me. I’ll get there, too, in time.)

We celebrated, thanks largely to the efforts of our son. All of it surprised Hal. That always makes it fun. On Friday, David took us to the local small airport, where a friend was waiting to take us up for a ride in his little prop plane. For about 40 minutes we looked down on our town, the surrounding fields, the mountains, and the big river before descending back to the airport. Mid-trip, Jon, the pilot, turned the controls over to Hal who wasn’t quite sure he wanted them. I, in the back seat, was sure I didn’t want him to have them. But he eased into the task and had fun learning about the different gages to pay attention to as he turned the plan in different directions, lost and gained altitude, and really did fly the plane. It was a great birthday surprise! Something one doesn’t imagine an old man doing.

Saturday morning, we opened the door to our apartment to see it decorated with an elaborate birthday poster complete with Hal’s baby photos. Later our neighbors on the floor gathered to sing Happy Birthday and clap, hoot, and holler.

On Saturday noon we arrived at David’s home, expecting the usual family lunch and small celebration. But it turned out to be regular birthday party, with friends, family, balloons, songs, and a feast worthy of 80 years! We practiced all the time-honored rituals: a birthday apple pie (our tradition) with eight candles that Hal blew out. The Happy Birthday song, of course, and lots of photos. Now that I look back, we forgot to ask Hal to make a wish. We’ll have to do that part tonight. Different people shared memories of Hal, most of them funny. Then Hal told stories of his time in Guatemala; the night he was attacked by vampire bats was a favorite.

Saturday night Hal told me how affirmed he felt and how downright happy. A good celebration, worthy of a milestone.

Now it’s Monday morning and back to normal life. I find myself married to an 80-year-old man. But, of course, it doesn’t feel any different than the mornings that went before. He doesn’t seem radically changed. We’re still both growing older, slowly and not by leaps and milestones. I’m glad for gradual. We’re still enjoying this phase of life which has its joys as well as its challenges.

We’ve stopped asking, “Are we old yet,” because it seems like an irrelevant question. We’re alive and well. God is good. We’ll take one day at a time for as long as we have.

(But hurrah for celebrations!)