Sunday, November 4, 2012

Life as DaOldLady

Well...Hey! and Good Mornin' to Ya!

Yes, it's Lynn.
Yes..I am also known as DaOldLady.

I am 41 years old. I think that's an odd age. To many, many people that is very old but if your on the other side of that mark maybe not so old. I think the name is more a reference of soul than actual age itself. I think I have always been a sorta' old lady. Even when I was in my teens I had a great love for things that are old. Maybe it was because I was blessed to be surrounded as a child to so many of my grandparents (greats and great-greats) and they loved me so well that I just dearly loved everything about them also. Now they have all passed but to be reminded of them in some inanimate object is almost wonderful as a picture. Even a picture can't always capture that old smell or the roughness of years of use by callused hands.
All those young years my sister and I slept in that old, black iron bed being careful not to roll on that one spot; you know the one..the one where that spring comes through the old mattress and pokes you in the butt. 
or maybe...
It was moving back to that old two story drafty house that Papa Fred and Granny Orella had made their home after my first marriage went down the drain. That house, oh that house; to love it was to hate it. I did love it but it was truly a labor of love. There was nothing uncommon to wake up and find that snow had found it's way through cracks in the corners between the wood floors and the wall. Winters full of toting wood, firing stoves, patching holes, unthawing frozen water pipes was a small labor when spring came and those big double doors would be left swung open day and night. 
I'm not a smoker or a chewer but to smell that sweet tobacco curing in the barn....well..there's not much that's so sweet a smell.
It was all those barefoot days on that red dirt road. In Sandy Ridge where I grew up all dirt is red. That old red road that would lead you past the the fields to where the thick woods started taken you to the big part of the creek. That journey would take you past the almost forgotten family cemetery; a cemetery so old that markers were mere stones. I often found myself a rambler in the woods. I always get an unexplained feeling when finding an old home place. Places where the only remains would be a foundation of rocks surrounded by a bed of buttercups.
it could be...
I'm DaOldLady because my husband calls me that when speaking to friend. Don't worry he never calls me that to my face. So in return I gladly refer to him as the Old Man.
you probably can guess...
I'm an old movie lover, especially westerns.
I love old fashion/clothes, probably from all those days messing in Grandma's closet.
I think lipstick/gloss is very important (Grandma Dorothy's lips were always done)
I'm a little concerned when shaking hand with a man who's hands are softer than mine.
I believe God is the glue without Him everything just comes apart.
I believe nature is perfect if human are careful not to disturb it.
History is important. If you don't know where you've been, how can you know where your going?

(the past)

(the present)
An always hopeful towards the future

Hoping your day is Blessed
and as always
Thanks for stopping by.


  1. This is such a wonderful post! You took me back to the old feather mattress in my Grandma's house where I used to sleep with my sister in the summer. It was always sooooo hot! We tried to sleep with the fan blowing in our faces. I love old things too....always have. Thanks for reminding me and thanks for stopping by my place. Blessings to you.

  2. Ah that mattress! And in the winter the quilt so heavy you couldn't move and it just weighed down on our little toes while laying on our back.

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