Today, I'm 70 years old

I remember thinking my Grandma Stevens was really old when she was in her sixties.  Silly me.  I am receiving dozens of birthday greetings from my Facebook friends, which is always fun.  These days I am not a greeting-card-sender, so I don't get a lot of cards, and I don't really expect them.  Still, all those superficial greetings on Facebook are nice.  Somebody knows I was born!  

Psalm 90:10 has been on my mind lately:  "The days of our lives are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow.  For it is soon cut off, and we fly away."  

Well, I've now made it to threescore and ten, and I'm thankful for every minute of it.  I stepped outside with my coffee this morning and there were cone flowers and day lilies wishing me happy birthday.  The cows were up front of the trailer house, laying behind the barn, and I thought, "I love cows."  I mosied out near the chicken house and there was Mama Hen with her 13 chicks.  What fun!  Happy birthday to me!  

You know you're getting older when your morning prayers includes words like this:  "Please help me endure whatever pain comes today, and thank You for aspirin and Tylenol."  I'm serious, I pray this often.  

Even though aches and pains plague me at times, I enjoy life.  I have fun with my husband, my computer, my cows and chickens, and my life behind the barn.  I enjoy my family.  The little girl we babysit has been a highlight, our little ray of sunshine; she's a birthday gift every time she comes through the door, a gift that keeps on giving.  

We had a perfectly wonderful Independence Day here, with interesting people sharing the day with us.  Yes, friends, I've learned that you can still have fun, even if your knees ache sometimes.  I wish I slept a little better than I do, but I remind myself often that waking up early in the morning just gives me more time to enjoy life. 

Me, eight days old

If you read my recent entry that included a letter that the doctor who delivered me wrote to my mother after my birth, you probably read between the lines and figured out that I was not expected to live.  Then there was a time when I was seven years old that I spent over a week in the hospital, and once again, family members seemed to think I was a goner.  We never knew what was wrong with me, I just suddenly got better and my parents took me home.  When I think about these two "close calls", it makes me extra thankful for this life.   

So it is, indeed, a happy birthday for me.