Submitted by Elaine Ambrose on January 19, 2012 - 5:46pm
One of the best reasons to slide gleefully down the backside of middle age is to reach that glorious oasis where I just don’t care anymore if my socks match, or if my plastic pink flamingo in the yard irritates the neighbors, or if I could braid the twig-sized hairs growing out of my chin. My life is an inviting place that reminds me of my paternal grandmother’s old rocking chair; the one with the sagging, butter-soft, leather seat and the wooden arms worn white with wear. Finally, I’m comfortable with where and who I am.
