I don't like this aging thing. Oh, I like birthdays. And I like presents. And I don't feel like I'm getting old in my spirit. I'm maturing, but that is not the same as getting old. I generally feel like I'm fooling myself about this aging thing until my grand-daughter refers to her grandparents as "elderly." What?? Who's she calling names?

So I look in the mirror and wonder why my father (or grandfather!) is looking back at me. And every once in a while, my feet give me away.

They're flat. And some of the toes are crooked. And sometimes my ankles ache with arthritis like they belong to an old man.

But I like to feel the sand on them. Or soak them in the hot tub. Or pretend I can run fast and jump high, and even dance! (Judy would never believe that.)  There is a kid inside this body, still. He's maturing, but he doesn't want to get old.