My 65th Christmas

For me, there is something about holidays that seems to be like living markers for how they click off time. It occurred to me this year that I have celebrated 65 Christmases. How the heck could that be? 65 once seemed very very old and now here I am, and I am not sure what it seems like.

I don't remember the time from 1944 (except maybe in my subconscious), but it looks like I was really into the idea of opening presents. I have gone from that one year old being me, to the 65 year old, Christmas afternoon, walking up the road above the farm. One was opening the gift of life and the other, well, in the winter of her life, she still is.

In between were a lot of holiday dinners, a lot of changes, a lot of people who have come and gone through my holidays. That is as amazing to me as realizing I really have had so many Christmases.

Since I turned 60, I have said I am old. I knew it chronologically was true; but although I would say it, I didn't really feel it. Saying it was a way to prepare myself for what was inevitably coming, to acknowledge the changes. I could still visibly hide my age. My grandson asked me why my hair was gray. I said it's because I am old and added that I could dye my hair. I did not tell him but I knew I could also have surgeries to temporarily at least take away sags and wrinkles; but it wouldn't change anything real to do that. This body and brain will still be 65 years old, donning masks or not.

For me, this is not a melancholy awareness, but more about change. I find it more interesting than depressing. Day by day it's not so noticeable, except in little things, until I see another year has gone by through markers like Christmas, New Years, birthdays, and I look to see the changes in my face, know the differences in my body, and realize more is coming-- choose it or not.

Some tell me aging is in the mind. I would like them to show me one person where this proved to be true-- except in fiction. We might age at different rates, but we all do age. There is something about being old that makes people tend to think they should deny it.

People say things like-- I am young at heart. That doesn't make sense. We say someone is an old soul, recognizing something deeper in them; and then turn around and not realize an old person might have more heart awareness than a child. Does innocence necessarily disappear with age? Wouldn't it be more accurate to say I am old at heart? There is a beauty in age that we deny when we deny being old.

When we are old, as we have experienced loss, as we have seen the value of life, as we have seen so many changes, only when we know we will be leaving it sooner than later, only then can we really appreciate all that is and has been. The days are more precious when there are less of them ahead and we can remember all the good ones behind. What a treasure I have from all those Christmases that changed so much and left behind me, for now, to remember them. Yes, it's easy to get teary but in a positive way.


Isn't aging a bit like going through a gate? I suppose there isn't just one gateway but a series of them as life shifts and changes. It is, however, the road to the final gateway-- the one where we leave life.

I think about life's beginning and end especially at Christmas when I remember the ones who have already gone through the last gate. Again, it's not so much to be sad but more to just be aware and make the most of the days we have. Live each stage of life fully for what it is instead of denying it.

Since I always love to photograph gates, these are two new ones from this last week's snowfall. The first (at the back) open and the last (by the house) yet to be opened.