Maybe the Beatles couldn’t imagine living into their nineties back in the era where we didn’t trust anyone over thirty. So they wrote a song about growing old together at sixty-four. Knitting sweaters, puttering in the garden, bouncing grandchildren on their knees. I’m pretty sure Sir Paul sees the golden years differently now since he is still selling out concerts and turning seventy this year.

I’m thinking of the song because I’ve just spent four days with my ninety-two year old mother-in-law. I rather hope Jesus will have returned to earth and made all things new before I reach that milestone. But, in case He doesn’t, here are a few things on my list of what I hope for when I’m ninety-two

• I hope I’m still interested in things. Like the hierarchy of hummingbirds and the migration habits of the Ruby Red-Throated ones. The kinds of things one must look up in a book kept beside the dining room table.

• I hope I’m still teachable about technology. So I can chat with my great- grandchildren on Facebook and read books by new authors like Serenity Bohon on my Kindle.

• I hope I still wear pierced earrings, soft make-up, and colorful clothes.

• I hope I still love singing in church.

• And most of all, I hope I will have built strong relationships. The kind that guarantee someone will love me enough to come running each time I ring my little, china bell.

(And I’m ringing it, people, get prepared.)

What do you hope for when you turn ninety-two?