Your Roots Are Showing

I'm older. I know that. But, honestly, I still feel pretty young. Well, most days at least

Today I received a not-requested senior discount at Einstein Bagels. It appeared as a $1.03 credit on my receipt, along with the cheery explanation. And if other people don't tell me I'm older, my body definitely does.

I traveled to and from Chicago last week with my daughter and her friend. Being the self sufficient woman I am, I helped the girls boost their luggage into the airline's overhead bin. Later that day, I felt my mistake. My back has not been happy ever since. I've been putting those sticky heat patches on it, Ben Gay rub, ice, heat wraps, you name it. And still when I turn incorrectly . . . ouch.

There are other signs too. I wear glasses now . . . all the time. It started with readers, and then progressed to progressives. And I HAVE to color my hair now. Those pesky roots keep reappearing in an ever-shinier shade of silver. I (briefly) considered embracing my gray, but as you can see in the photo above, I'm still having my favorite stylist slap some color on it every 5 to 6 weeks. I'm not quite ready to say goodbye to my dark hair yet.

This middle age thing is not completely unwelcome. It has its rewards. I find I am far less self conscious than I've ever been. I am able to talk to strangers without wondering what they think of me. I'm less worried about my career moves. I'm no longer as self-conscious about my body. I don't get acne. And I've entered the glory days of menopause with no more excruciating cramping (I won't get into the downsides of that one).

No one asks me if I'm dating anybody, when I'm going to get married, what I'm going to be when I grow up, or when I'll have children. Those milestones are pretty much behind me. What's done is done. The critics have finally stopped asking.

I don't know any of the latest musicians. I perpetually call things by the wrong names. I honestly still don't know how to say meme or giff. Is it jiff?

I don't care if what I wear matches the latest trends. I'm like that "I will wear purple lady" with the red hat. Who cares if I stick out like a sore thumb?

It's pretty good overall, this aging thing. You see more. You relax more. You understand more. You enjoy more. I know who I am. I know what I believe. I have embraced my quirks, my failures, my annoying little habits.

I am plumper, grayer, blinder, sorer . . . but probably quite a bit happier.

And, by the way, I don't care if the Russians steal my identity. But I also don't need a phone app to tell me what I'll look like.

I'm pretty much there already.

Mary McLeod Bethune: She Has Given Her Best

I first heard about Mary McLeod Bethune when I was a student at Moody Bible Institute. She was an early graduate of my college - and an African American woman. I knew she had gone on to become one of the greatest women in our country. She was so well known that she earned the status of being featured on our postage stamps. But I didn't really know much about her. As I researched Mary McLeod Bethune for my book, When Others Shuddered: Eight Women Who Refused to Give Up . I learned a bit more about her remarkable life: She was the 15th of 17 children, born to former slaves. From an early age, she hungered for education. She graduated from Moody Bible Institute with a desire for missionary service to Africa - an opportunity she was denied because of her race. Undeterred, she started a school for African American girls in Daytona Beach, Florida, that went on to become Bethune Cookman University. She was asked to work with Franklin D. Roosevelt and led many ...

Pacific Garden Mission: A Bed, A Meal and the Bright Light of Hope

In 1877, a woman named Sarah Dunn Clarke and her newly-wedded husband George started a rescue mission on Chicago’s south side. They were wealthy, but their hearts were broken by the men and women who struggled to survive on the city’s streets. The Pacific Garden Mission is the 2 nd oldest operating rescue mission in the United States. Now located on 14 th St and Canal – just south of Chicago’s loop – they offer shelter to as many as a thousand men and women on any given night. As part of my book research to understand how the work of Sarah Clarke continues today, I visited the mission with my friend Dawn Pulgine. Entering through the side, we felt a bit out of our element. Men, black and white, old and young, clustered near the doorway. Some carried bags of personal belongings. Others were working the desk and security. It was mid-day at the Mission. We were given a tour by one of the “program men” – residents who choose to stay a...

My Life as a Cosplay Mom

Cosplay?! What's that? When I tell people that my teenage daughter loves to cosplay, they often have no idea what I'm talking about. About five years ago, my daughter created her first costume to attend a cosplay convention. What I quickly learned is that her love for "cosplay" (defined as costume play) would definitely involve her mom! Together, we have made countless trips to the fabric and craft store as I learned to sew, trace, and glue, create patterns from scratch, and apply stage make-up. In the photo to the left, you can see my husband and I, with our daughter, in full Pokemon cosplay. Attending ACEN (Anime Central) at the Donald E. Stephens Convention Center in Rosemont, IL, two mild-mannered parents were instantly transformed into Team Magma. Our daughter had full design control, helping me create our group costume. Apparently we did it right, because the moment we entered the conference center, we were stopped for photos. Milt and I had to fake i...

Jamie Janosz

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