79th BIRTHDAY CELEBRATED, THOUGHTS ON HOLIDAYS & ANNIE'S POEM
By OLIVENE GIDFREY
I celebrated my 79th birthday yesterday and you may wonder what I have to celebrate at such an advanced age. Well, one thing is that despite my many ailments, I am still alive and have my mind which is something to celebrate. I am also grateful that because of son Barry's devotion, I am able to live in my comfortable home and have Sunday outings. I also feel fortunate to have known loved ones who have passed away.
On my birthday, Barry drove us to Dalton's Western Sizzlin where diners eat free on their birthdays. I ate off the bountiful buffet and indulged myself with a small helping of strawberry shortcake for dessert. Feeling unusually well, I decided I wanted to go shopping at K Mart which is near the restaurant.
Barry pushed me in the wheelchair across the parking lot and the frigid cold weather had my teeth chattering. Once inside,
Barry took me all over the store and we purchased a few items.
When we came home, I changed into my stay-at-home clothes and relaxed. My Florida, English born friend, Annie, called to wish me a happy birthday. She had sent me a poem when I wrote her after my cataract surgery about seeing all the new wrinkles and she gave me permission to share it with you.
MIRROR MIRROR
Who is this person looking back at me
I look over my shoulder,
There's no one there
It looked like my mother,
But that can't be.
I blink, I look closer,
Yes, it's me.
Who is this person looking back at me?
Bright eyes tell,
Of a sprite unchanged.
Laughter lines, or wrinkles?
Who cares what they're called.
These are the things
I choose not to see.
Annie Burgamy
One of the nice things about the holidays is receiving cards and notes and phone calls from relatives and friends, many that we don't see often. I have talked to my my late husband, Ralph's sister, Agnes, and Ralph's late brother, Ray's wife, Joyce and have enjoyed our telephone conversations. I want to mention that my writer friend, Ruth, sent me cards for Thanksgiving and Christmas that she hand-crafted herself and written the personal messages in her elegant penmanship. I treasure the cards.
See you next time.
By OLIVENE GIDFREY
I celebrated my 79th birthday yesterday and you may wonder what I have to celebrate at such an advanced age. Well, one thing is that despite my many ailments, I am still alive and have my mind which is something to celebrate. I am also grateful that because of son Barry's devotion, I am able to live in my comfortable home and have Sunday outings. I also feel fortunate to have known loved ones who have passed away.
On my birthday, Barry drove us to Dalton's Western Sizzlin where diners eat free on their birthdays. I ate off the bountiful buffet and indulged myself with a small helping of strawberry shortcake for dessert. Feeling unusually well, I decided I wanted to go shopping at K Mart which is near the restaurant.
Barry pushed me in the wheelchair across the parking lot and the frigid cold weather had my teeth chattering. Once inside,
Barry took me all over the store and we purchased a few items.
When we came home, I changed into my stay-at-home clothes and relaxed. My Florida, English born friend, Annie, called to wish me a happy birthday. She had sent me a poem when I wrote her after my cataract surgery about seeing all the new wrinkles and she gave me permission to share it with you.
MIRROR MIRROR
Who is this person looking back at me
I look over my shoulder,
There's no one there
It looked like my mother,
But that can't be.
I blink, I look closer,
Yes, it's me.
Who is this person looking back at me?
Bright eyes tell,
Of a sprite unchanged.
Laughter lines, or wrinkles?
Who cares what they're called.
These are the things
I choose not to see.
Annie Burgamy
One of the nice things about the holidays is receiving cards and notes and phone calls from relatives and friends, many that we don't see often. I have talked to my my late husband, Ralph's sister, Agnes, and Ralph's late brother, Ray's wife, Joyce and have enjoyed our telephone conversations. I want to mention that my writer friend, Ruth, sent me cards for Thanksgiving and Christmas that she hand-crafted herself and written the personal messages in her elegant penmanship. I treasure the cards.
See you next time.
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