I happened upon a wacky list of National Holidays and today happens to be “Spunky Old Broads Day.”

 Ooh. Interesting.

It made me wonder – at what age does a woman qualify for Old Broad status?  I’m probably there already.  But adding the spunky descriptor makes it way better, in my opinion.

 

The other day I was talking to a friend I’ve known a bajillion years (and okay, so that’s a slight exaggeration – but it somehow seems scarier to say I’ve known her for thirty-eight years. Eek!)

 

At any rate, we were talking about life in general and we somehow stumbled into a discussion about our ages.

 

It sort of freaked us out when we examined it. She’s ten years older than I am, but I’ve never really thought of her as that much older. Well, except when I was in my mid-20s and she had more life experience and was great at giving me gentle advice.

 

Once I matured a little and the playing field was a bit more level, our friendship became…I don’t know – richer, maybe.  We talked and laughed and shared details about our lives and we knew that we had become forever friends.

 

And yet there we were the other day expressing shock that we are the ages we are. I feel like I was just in my 30s a few short years ago. Thirties? Heck, I remember being a teenager – and it truly doesn’t seem all that long ago.

 

Yet, every time my knee aches when I walk Maggie Minx or I have a twinge in my back from lifting something heavy, like, say, a quart of milk from the fridge, I’m reminded that I’m far from being a teenager.

 

On the other hand, I appreciate every moment of my 61 years. I’ve loved and I’ve lost, and after watching my mom slip away little by little over the years from Alzheimer’s disease, I know that my life and my memories are incredibly precious.

 

Mom was the epitome of a spunky old broad. (Except I think she was a lady, too.) Mom embraced her age whatever her age was at the time. She wore her silver hair with pride – even when she started turning grey in her 30s. She didn’t try to be someone she wasn’t. She was never afraid to speak her mind or state her opinion – even if it wasn’t popular.

 

Despite her faults (and – c’mon – we all have ‘em), and despite her relatively small 6-1/2 shoe size, she left pretty big shoes for us to fill.

 

I looked up the definition of “spunky” and some of the adjectives included: brave, courageous, determined, outspoken. Those adjectives described my mom. Before Alzheimer’s. Before she became afraid of who she was becoming. And what was going to become of her.

 

Before mom became sick, I had a pretty good sense of humor. I laughed a lot more than I do now. Being her advocate made me tougher. It made me sad sometimes. But it also made me stronger.

 

So I think it’s time to laugh again. It’s time to get a little wacky. It’s time to be a spunky old broad. Have a little fun. Be a little crazy.

 

Let’s unite and celebrate our spunky old broad-ness! Who’s with me?