While Studly Doright and I were relaxing on Amelia Island this past weekend I had the following text conversation with our daughter:
“Ok.” and “Yep.” were my contributions, and my reward was seeing my daughter’s reaction. So now I’m planning a quick trip to Chicago on the 27th of October.
I’m beyond excited about seeing Les Misérables at the Cadillac Theater, but that’s just icing on the cake. The real treat will be getting to see Les Mis with my daughter on her birthday and our middle grandchild. I’m so glad I typed “Ok.”
As my faithful followers know, yesterday I celebrated my 61st birthday. It was a good day, but it got off to a rocky start. Rather than go into the painful details, I’ll just give you the bullet points.
Due to the possibility of a hurricane hitting our area we cancelled plans for a weekend visit to Amelia Island.
We’ll still have to pay for half the price of the room we cancelled because the hurricane didn’t enter into the picture until past the cancellation deadline. Thanks booking.com. Grrrr.
My favorite convenience store was out of diet Dr. Pepper, so I had to do without my must have caffeinated beverage. To coffee drinkers, that would be like starting your day without coffee.
Whole Foods couldn’t make me an iced chai latte because their chai delivery was late.
The damned hurricane changed direction. I don’t want it to impact anyone, but since we cancelled our reservation and still have to pay for one night, how dare it not hit here?
I had lunch at a table by myself while watching various groups of women engaged in pleasant social discourse. Dammit! It was my birthday.
All became right with the world when I enjoyed a spa treatment at Aveda.
Studly Doright lost his golf match, but played well.
I received tons of birthday greetings.
I don’t know how to make the bullets stop.
Guess I’ll just say, Thank You for Reading. If you made it this far, you might need to get a life.
The big kid is me way back in the day. The cute kiddo is my adorable cousin on her first birthday. The man is my beloved Grandaddy.
Studly Doright thought I should share photos of his new toy. It’s a ’72 model 350 Yamaha R5, a two cylinder, two stroke. He bought it for himself and then told me it was his birthday present from me. That’s how you cut out the middle man. Or middle woman, in this case.
It needs a bit of TLC, so I’ll be supervising the work. I do have a stake in the thing, after all.
Days aren’t as long as they used to be. Back when our two children were feisty toddlers and my
Husband worked revolving shifts, twenty-four hours lasted twenty-four years and nobody
Cared that I was drowning in every single second. Nurturing was a foreign concept peddled
By well-meaning matrons and judgemental church ladies. What in hell was wrong with me
That I didn’t gush over every milestone, each budding tooth, too exhausted to care that my babies
Wouldn’t be babies forever and that someday twenty-four hours would feel like twenty-four
Minutes, and a year reduced to a week and my babies grown and out on their own. Too soon.
My daughter celebrates her 36th birthday today. Even though I love her fiercely I wasn’t a patient mommy. The days of her infancy passed as slowly as liquid concrete, and I wish with all my heart we could have a do-over.
But she’s grown into an amazing, beautiful woman, and I’m so very proud of my Ashley. I love her, like her, care about her. Every day.
I’m going to admit to starting out this first day of my sixties feeling a little sorry for myself. Yes, I’d enjoyed a surprise birthday weekend with Studly on the gulf coast, but today was the DAY and I had nothing going on. No party. No family here (except for Studly). No cake. No dancing. Poor pitiful me.
My long time friend, Hunny, turned 60 on the third of this month with a flourish. Her kids threw a surprise party and there was live music and her grandbabies were in attendance. I might have felt a twinge, ok, a rush of envy, knowing there was no way I was going to be feted in such a manner.
But on my way to work this morning I got a FaceTime call from our youngest grandchild who sang her special version of Happy Birthday. Then in the office at the school where I’m working a second grade boy told me he thought I was pretty. Just out of the clear blue sky. When I thanked him and told him that today was my birthday he said, “Well, that explains everything!”
Throughout the day I’ve received hundreds of birthday greetings from friends on WordPress and Facebook, and each one makes me smile. I also have two gifts to open later tonight and Studly has promised to take me to dinner.
On my way home from work I was listening to John Fugelsang’s show and his guest, one of my favorite poets, Taylor Mali, read his poem, My Deepest Condiments. It was as if this poem was meant just for me today. So I’m feeling pretty awesome. No more pity party. It’s great to be 60.
‘Twas the night before sixty
And while tossing in bed
I considered my body
From my toes to my head.
My arches have fallen
My calves ache with fatigue
Poor ankles are swollen
Oh, where’s the Aleve?
My thighs nicknamed thunder,
Hips ache all the time.
Stomach pooches with abandon,
Breasts droop, it’s a crime!
My neck’s crepey like a chicken’s
My face wrinkled like a Sharpei’s
But brown eyes still a’twinkle
While brown hair’s turning gray.
The changes have been gradual,
And not overnight
Thank goodness I’ve had time
To deal with the fright.
Today’s the day I kiss my fifties goodbye. I’m really looking forward to this decade. If it weren’t the middle of the week I’d go out dancing until 2 a.m., drink my companions under the table, and run naked through the streets singing “Born to be Wild” at the top of my lungs. Good thing it’s Wednesday.