Don't tell my Husband

Each year about a month or so before my husband's birthday, he starts to complain about how old he is getting. I always laugh at him. We have a video tape of our oldest daughter's first birthday party (she is now in college) in which he 'wisely' makes some sort of comment to a friend about "well, when you get to the third decade. . . ." I'm really not sure what he says after that because I am always on the floor laughing my head off. I like to tease him. When he was about to turn 40 he was complaining about how horrible it was that he was getting so old. He made these complaints to our friends who were in their early 80's. Again I laughed at him and told him to cut it out because our friends had turned 40 twice and they were doing just fine. Not long after his 40th, I had to laugh at him again when he found out he had to get bifocals, and then recently when he was told that he may even need trifocals. Poor baby. (Snicker, snicker)

Of course it has always been easy for me to laugh at his dread of getting old, because he always gets there a few years ahead of me. Besides if you ask my oldest daughter (who doesn't want to be mentioned in my blog so I'll try to keep her out of it) she will tell you that I am really only 13 years old and always will be. I rarely feel any effects of my birthdays. They are just a number. The gray hairs and wrinkles don't mean anything to me because I still feel so young inside. The aches from the arthritis and the fatigue from who know what don't mean anything because I still feel so young inside. I love to dance around and sing and embarrass my children because, well, I still feel so young and I like to make them laugh. Perhaps that isn't so much feeling young as it is just being immature. I like to tell myself that it is just feeling young so imagine my surprise when I recently saw something a little differently.
Is it just me, or can you see the holes in these beads? Is it time to laugh at me now because I might need reading glasses? Nah, of course not, how silly of me. Those holes are just absolutely minut that's all. I love denial. (Usually I make some kind of joke about living in Egypt at this point, but I'll skip it this time.)

I spent a few hours going cross eyed yesterday while putting these infinitesimally small beads on a mini quilt (about 9"x 11") and then took it in to work and forgot to take a picture of it.  The process of making the quilt was very enriching for me. It is a sea side scene made with hand dyed fabrics and faux batiks and lots of embellishments of yarn and beads. Fun, fun, fun, but I don't like how it turned out! It is still missing something. Maybe I will figure out what it's missing before I post the picture, maybe not, and if not then perhaps some of you will post comments on what you think it needs. Perhaps the problem really is that I can't see the silly thing as clearly as I could have a year ago! Where did my glasses go? Nope, it still needs something.

Well, the good news is, that if it is truly my eyes that are aging (body part aging, not me) then it's good that Whimsy has some of the cutest reading glasses I have ever seen, and I can look fashionable for once in my life.

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