Today is my birthday and I don't mind. My friend Marilyn says that folks that say they are 29 and holding, or 39 and holding, bug her. She is 49 (almost) and holding her grandbaby and proud of it. I love that.
So, I'm 48 and holding...but not in the traditional sense.
I'm still holding my own kids every now and then, even though I have a ton of friends my age holding grandbabies.
And I can usually be found holding garden produce or flowers or a shovel or a rake or a dishtowel or a mudding trowel or a child's hand or a book, or a spatula or a pen and paper in my hand.
And I'm holding my husband, who is strong and wise and funny and hard headed and doesn't know the meaning of a partee, and 5 beautiful people called children and extended family that we see, not nearly enough, and friends from all over the place in my thoughts and memories and heart.
And I'm holding what's to come: visions and dreams and hopes, in my thoughts and my soul.
So, yea, 48 and holding. A bouquet of life. Fragrant and colorful and vibrant and alive.