My friend Roz and I visited over coffee. We’ve worked together and often laugh about life. We’re both in our 60s. Roz told me, “My significant other’s mother is staying at our house” Roz said. “She’s 88 and sleeps outside in a tent.”
“Wow! What a woman, tell me more.”
“She runs a riding stable with 24 horses!”
“At 88?” I asked. I grew up with horses and knew how much work they involve. And picturing this 88-year-old woman leading city dudes on trail rides, my journalist’s curiosity became aroused.
“Can I meet her?” I asked.
“Sure,” Roz said.
Later that afternoon, I drove over to the house where Roz lives.
“Mary, meet Thelma,” Roz said. Thelma was slim, agile and bright eyed. We sat out in the back on the patio, partly because Thelma prefers to be outside whenever possible. I do, too. Thelma had been riding that day with her son at a riding stable and showed me the 8 x 10 photo of them on the horses.
Yikes! I compared Thelma and myself. After several mishaps with horses, I rarely if ever ride any more. I know several people who have lasting mobility problems from accidents with horses. And the woman in front of me was 88 and went riding the very day I met her. No fear, this lady. She put me to shame. I have turned into a wimp I thought to myself.
Thelma said, “My grandmother came in a covered wagon and homesteaded ten acres in Michigan. Dad was a hunting guide, my grandfather a horse trader.”
“Way past cool! At your age you must have lost a lot of friends and family. Do you ever get sad or depressed?”
Her eyes lit up. “I’m too busy to get sad. Barns to fix, putting wood up for winter, feeding horses, three lawns to mow. My niece who lives with me yells at me if I take a week off.”
“You’re amazing.” I say.
“That’s what my doctor says.”
“You don’t wear glasses or hearing aids,” I observed.
“Nope, don’t need them.”
Thelma’s hair was still it’s natural color of light brown, no gray. Her aliveness and vibrancy were contagious.
“Are you still riding?” she asked me.
“Not much. I don’t have a horse anymore.”
“Now you get back on that horse,” she said. “Go riding.”
I wondered if God was trying to tell me something through Thelma? Was I supposed to give up my fears and start riding again? I’m not sure, but maybe this pistol of a lady set the example of aging well for all of us.
Stay busy, stay active, and do what you love.