Patina

patina  1 a fine crust or film on bronze or copper, usually green or greenish-blue, formed by natural oxidation and often valued as being ornamental    2 any thin coating or color change resulting from age, as on old wood or silver

In the garden this morning, I was struck by the beauty of patina, and patina is nothing more than age. 

I see my age.  Every day when I look in the mirror, I see the wrinkles around my eyes that have come from  much smiling.  But I would not trade my smiles.  In fact, every time I see those wrinkles I should be thankful that I’ve had things to laugh about.

The patina in the garden is beautiful to me.  If there’s anything I love about winter, and there are some things about winter that I love, it’s the fact that this patina — the age — becomes so much more prominent when the beauty of youth — the flowers — is sleeping. 

There’s a Jewish proverb.

For the ignorant, old age is as winter; for the learned, it is harvest.

That, dear friends, will be written into my  journal today. 

I do not want to dread another day because there might be another wrinkle, or because my joints say stay in bed when my mind says but I want to do things.

I want to wear bright colors and practice beautiful sayings in my mind and smile and have a beautiful spirit.

It bothers me, for myself and for my daughter, that we are surrounded by a culture that honors youth more than wisdom.  Neither of us is immune to the natural tendency of a woman to want to be pretty, but I struggle to help my daughter grasp now, in her youth, that a beautiful spirit is priceless.  It’s all the more reason for me to act my age and try to show her.

In parting, let’s smile.  It has been said that old age is when actions creak louder than words. 

Happily, we are all headed that way.