Believing in My Own Grandmother Face

“In these ‘senior adult’ years we have the time to explore, the experience to commit to paper, and the wit to balance emotions necessary to make writing more than a pastime or an escape from boredom.”     –Frances Weaver

Late bloomers … Coming into our own glory and majesty late in life.  I’m a member of this distinguished club.  I proudly wave my membership papers, at age 53.

Sometimes. On other days, I’m not as proud.  Those days I slide down a slippery slope into old age, faster with each passing day. On those days I feel the ‘end of my time’ breeze caressing my cheeks.

Then, I teeter on the edge of beating myself up. Why did I take so long to discover myself? Why did I wait so long to begin writing? Why did I waste so many years?

In 1993 (at the ‘ripe old age’ of 35) my then-counselor/now-friend, Dr. Barbara Sinor, encouraged me to write, saying I was a writer. It only took me 15 years to believe her.

I dabbled.  I wished and dreamed. I made many false starts, but mostly wished. Wishing doesn’t put words on paper, does it?

After 50, I finally got serious.  I’m inching along now, making more progress some weeks than others. But the magic is that I’m starting to believe it, to believe in myself.

Synchronicity. I discovered a lone paperback book, in the middle of a vendors booth filled with “collectibles”. I couldn’t pass up the intriguing title: The Girls with the Grandmother Faces: A Celebration of Life’s Potential for those over 55 (especially for a quarter!)

I devoured it.

Frances Weaver’s book, new to my radar, jumped right up to my favorites.

Frances herself started writing later in life … at age 53!  She wrote this book at age 60.  She had an impressive writing career. She was prolific author of many books and columns and spoke at writing conferences before her death in 2004. Her zest for life and learning is a beacon; encouraging and inspiring me to continue.

I send gratitude to her, across the divide separating this physical world from the souls of those passed. I’m not ‘getting old’; I’m gaining the assets of experience and maturity.

Francesasks at the end of her magnificent book, “Just who are you going to be for the last act, the last twenty percent of your life? How much will the rest of your life characterize your feeling for life itself?”

I shall continue. I’m a writer. This writer/girl just happens to have a grandmother’s face.

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Louise
    Dec 21, 2011 @ 22:33:07

    As I sit here squinting into a glaring screen, I must admit, the thought of age capturing me at the most inopportune time is not one I take lightly. I’m always reminded of a story of six men who were trapped in a hole. One was wearing a watch the others weren’t. When the time came that they were rescued, there were questions as to why five of the men had survived while the man with the watch did not. As the story goes, awareness of the time may have been the culprit. If you were to ask me right now how old I am I would have to say, “I don’t know until I figure out how old my son is, then add 20 years. Fact is, I don’t know off hand how old he his either, lol…

    Write Trisha, write til you can’t write anymore!!!

    My eye is still on the mend, slowly…Just in case I don’t make it back before next year, A Very Happy Holiday to you and yours, Trisha and toasting you a Healthy and Happy New Year!!! We are going to fill the internet with oodles of reasons to celebrate…life…

    Reply

  2. trishafaye
    Dec 22, 2011 @ 05:32:37

    Well Louise, I think that both you and I will be writing our way into the sunset, however far off that sunset may be!
    I’m glad to hear your eye is doing better. This is NOT the time of year to be slowed down by physical limitations or problems.
    A wonderful new year to you also. Can’t wait to see all the scrumptious goodies that fill your upcoming year!

    Reply

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