Showing my age

Mr A sometimes comments sadly that I’m getting “old” hands.  Well, yes, I guess they should be old.  I’m 63.  Most of the day they are in and out of water when I’m cleaning or washing.  When I first became a “housewife” (rather than a working-in-an-office-knackered-person) I was amazed at how battered my hands became.  Washing and cleaning was never ending.  But I’ve never been happier.  

Visited Mum today and we chatted for hours over a coffee and a Kitkat.  I’m very aware that at 97 I need to make the most of her (hence the very low step count!).

Oh, and I christened my new boots - they are supremely comfortable.  I might try to get a red pair too!  Mr A said they looked like something out of Deadwood and I’ll take that as I loved that series.  Mum thought they were more Mary Poppins (I’m not sure she’d enjoy the robust language on Deadwood to be honest).

Thought for the day:

”Know that you are the perfect age.  Each year is special and precious, for you shall only live it once.  Be comfortable with growing older.”

- Louise Hay