I AM A WRITER!!

This is number ONE HUNDRED.

Some essays were pretty good, some not so hot.  I did some griping (OK, a lot of griping), some introspection, some inspiration and some stuff that was kinda funny.  All of them were meant to show you a little bit about the mind of an almost-senior who is doing what she should have done years ago--find myself.

In the past hundred days or so I've discovered a lot about me, and some things about you, too.

My faith has grown by leaps and bounds.  It helps that I have found many--even most--of my friends on and off Facebook have a deep and abiding faith that they are willing to share.  I can feel the love and the prayers that go out to me, especially for my eyesight.  Thank you.  I send them back to you every day.

I have made diverse friendships.  Some were friends from long ago, from childhood or from work or school.  Some, like Jj, John and Kellie were the accidental draw of a Scrabble game, but we somehow connected as friends. I don't challenge that; it was meant to be.  Others came into my life because of a broken fingernail, or the YMCA, the neighborhood  or my job.  Each of them, of you, has a special place.  I found cousins I hadn't seen in forty years.  I cry in gratitude.

From my first status on Facebook, maybe before, friends told me I should write.  For a change, I listened.  How am I doing?  The bug has gotten under my skin.  I have reams of ideas and phrases.  I'm planning a children's book and a hundred more essays to publish if you can stay with me that long.  I have one letter to the editor published and another pending, Alas, only one allowed per month. It feels better than a gin and tonic with a peanut butter and chocolate sandwich.

It took one hundred essays before I realized how much wealth I have accumulated over the last year.  It took all one hundred to make me see that the friends I have found, even the couple I have lost, helped me to see what I have to do next and how far I have come already. They have influenced me in ways they don't even know.  I am incredibly grateful.

A simple walk turned into a commitment to get more fit.  I am more limber and have more stamina than I've had in years.  My clothes fit better, even if I haven't lost as much weight as I want to.  I can finally show my hands, literally and figuratively.  I am no longer afraid to express my love for my friends, nor my faith.  My eyes are healing.  My beliefs are my own.  I have a concrete list of the things I love and the things I want to do.  I have a church where I feel at home.  My friends call me for coffee or walks or talks or wings and I accept instead of making excuses.  I don't wonder why I lost touch with some of them; I have admitted to myself, finally, that my pride and stubbornness got in the way more than once.  I'm sorry.  I am not the person I was.  I am new.  I am becoming the person I've always wanted to be.  I like it.  I finally like ME.

I no longer expect to grow up; I no longer want to.  I may never be whole. It's become OK, even if nobody else gets it but me and cousin Sue.

After one hundred essays, one dream has come true.   I am writing. The grammar may be a little weak, the sentence structure a little awkward and thank God for spellcheck.  I think I get my point across in spite of it all.  I'll keep writing until  I am the only one left reading.

The basement still needs cleaned,  I still don't have matching socks.  Magic elves will take care of it.  I believe--anything can happen.   After all, now I can call myself a writer!

Whoduhthunkit.