Old Shingle boards from houses we were born and raised in, and memories, have a lot in common. As they age they seem to become more dear, the older the better.

On August the 8th, I reached the ripe age of seventy-one. As I am the ninth in a family of ten, I arrived at that age feeling especially blessed, as five of my sisters are still tagging along with me. We're all 'little ole ladies' ranging in age from eighty-seven down to sixty-seven. We, like old shingle boards on old houses, refuse to feel old. We have weathered illnesses and grief, we battle arthritis, we have adjusted to false teeth and a few false eyelashes, and whatever else life has chosen to deal us. We like to think we have met those challenges with love for God, each other and a good dose of grace.

We have grown dim of eye, hard of hearing, and perhaps even a bit dim-witted as well, but we choose not to admit it. We so enjoy getting together. As a birthday treat, my sister Barb hosted a 'Jammie party' for us in her Kentucky home. It lasted several days !!! We laughed until we cried, or peed our pants, whichever came first. We sang Gospel, ate until we waddled, and painted on old boards.

Project Deaton, yes, old shingles and memories, they do have a lot in common.