SUCCESS AS A SENIOR?
 
Old, you know, isn't so old,
Not as old as it used to be,
And although we know it isn't as old,
It's still too old for me.
 
My Social Security card, I s'pose
Is proof that I am  old,
And the mirror on my bathroom wall,
Confirms that this is so.
 
I've never been this old before,
And I'm not sure of my demeanor,
I want to do my thing just right,
And be successful as a Senior.
 
I don't crochet or knit or tat,
Like my Grandma used to do,
Or, like a lady, sit sedately,
I am too much on the move.
 
Rocking chairs are not for me,
Nor black laced shoes with funny heels,
I don't own a flowered brunch coat,
And chenille has no appeal.
 
I like blue jeans and bobby socks,
Dressing-up gives me a pain
I choose sweat shirts and no bra,
Total comfort is my aim.
 
 
I don't bake cakes or cookies,
Nor do I mess with home-made pies
I rarely turn my oven on,
Without my microwave, I'd die.
 
I eat when I get hungry,
I pick on tidbits with delight
I eat peanut butter as a treat,
In the middle of the night.
 
I can play on a computer,
From sunup till sundown,
I know two gurus in Timbuktu,
And another one in Oregon.
 
I still can flirt outrageously,
With young men half my age,
Poor babies ... they're quite unaware,
They're at that funny stage.
 
I like a shady story,
And I've been known to tell a few,
Sometimes I forget the punch line,
But I somehow wiggle through.
 
One nice thing about growing old,
It's okay to say what you mean
It's also okay to mean what you say,
Even if it seems extreme.
 
 
Through the years, I've learned a lot,
Mostly to shut-up,
That one comment is adequate,
And two is one too much.
 
It is my plan and my desire,
To enjoy my old age,
I know this is the only time
That I'll go through this phase.
 
But when I get to heaven,
And my life on earth is done,
I wonder if they'll let me in,
As the old fool I have become.
 
You may snicker at my words,
And perhaps you will reject me,
But it's more critical, I think,
That heaven will accept me.
 
I hope I do the proper thing,
And get my old age right,
My peers are dears, but they're so old,
All they do is gripe.
 
 
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
ŠJune, 2005