Another Candle

It's hard not to be a little ambivalent about birthdays when you've already celebrated six decades worth of them. While I certainly want them to keep on coming, I can't help feeling a twinge of anxiety every time one of them rolls around. Since I'm prone to introspection (bet you figured that out already) I tend to use the arrival of another birthday to inspect, analyze, and critique my behavior over the last three hundred sixty-five days. Not always a pretty sight but hey, somebody's got to do it.

Did I learn anything new? (Princess Charlotte's nanny's name unfortunately doesn't count). Did I advance my spiritual growth? (Watching five minutes of Joel Osteen's Sunday service also does not make the cut). Did I love more? (This year? Undoubtedly. I have that new grand-baby, remember?) Was I kinder? (That crazy woman in the library yesterday probably doesn't think so). More thoughtful? (I try on this one but it's pretty tough when thoughts stay in my consciousness for under thirty seconds.) Less petty? (Again, sorry crazy library lady). More joyful? (Other than the time I spend with my grandson who makes it pretty darn hard to be anything but). Did I sweat the small stuff less? (Does not getting upset at my hubby's picking up the wrong peanut butter count?) Did I value the important stuff more? (It's getting a little late if I haven't). Did I finally finish editing that damn book that I keep talking about? (What do you think?)

All I know is that another June 24th has presented itself and I'm doing the best I can. (Wait. That's a lie. I could exercise more and it wouldn't hurt to stop eating those dark chocolate sea-salt caramels every night. Damn you, Costco).  I do try to spend as much time as possible with the wonderful family and amazing friends that God has blessed me with (I sure hope that means another trip to Mexico this winter with the best friends anyone could ask for) and try to spend as little time as possible with toxic, negative people who's goal in life is to sap all the joy out of anyone within a five-mile radius (that's you, library lady).

It feels odd to be eligible for Social Security and AARP discounts. That's for old people and I have a hard time thinking of myself that way (unless I'm trying to get my creaky knees and plantar fascitis inflicted feet out of bed in the morning). But every time I feel sorry for myself or wish I didn't have to go through the decidedly negative aspects of getting older, I think of my friend Karyn who was stricken with Stage 4 cancer and died at fifty-four. I know she would have given anything to be here with her kids and grandkids; birthdays, achy joints and all.

She would feel lucky and blessed. And so do I.

Oops, He Did it Again

Twenty-five years ago today I was basking in the glory of having done it again; I was savoring those indescribable moments of bliss and gratitude that wash over any new mom blessed enough to welcome a healthy baby into her life. My son was less than twenty-four hours old and I spent the day cradling my nine and a half pound bundle close to my heart knowing that, yet again, there was another person in my life for whom I would throw myself in front of a speeding locomotive.

Flash forward to this morning. As I struggled to work off the effects of the paperback-size slab of lasagna and less-than-perfect cake I baked  to celebrate said bundle of joy's birthday, I got a phone call. My darling baby boy was a tad hung over from his late-night celebration with his friends and was wondering if I might be willing to step in and relieve him at our mutual place of employment. (Damn. That sounded like such a good idea at the time.) As usual, he promised to do just about anything I asked for this one little, teensy-weensy favor (including cleaning my house - I've got to hand it to him, the kid does know his target audience) and, by the time I hung up the phone, I had been sweet-talked into giving up my day off.

I didn't give in without a fight. I told him no. . .twice. But somewhere between his lament about two hours of sleep and struggling to fight off a virus brought home by an under-the-weather girlfriend, I gave up. So, I'm going to slap on some clothes, gain a few "I've got the best mom in the world" brownie points, and go in and get some of my own work done in the process.

But he better feel a whole lot better tomorrow. That locomotive is nowhere in sight and he has a lot of cleaning to do.

My Favorite Scorpio

I've done a few stupid things in my life - that perm in 1989, that night in New Orleans (does what happened in New Orleans, stay in New Orleans?), dating a guy who was a Civil War nut - but none of that matters. I had two amazing moments of glory that outshine all the dumb stuff I've done. I gave birth to two pretty terrific human beings. One of them turned 24 over the week-end and I've been reflecting on what it took to get him to the spot in which he's currently residing.

I'll be the first to admit that I have a lot of guilt about how I raised my kids. There weren't enough consequences and I didn't school them enough about the value of a dollar. I bailed them out too often and didn't let them learn anything the hard way. Funny thing is, at the time I thought I was doing those things. It's only now that I realize how much more I could have done if I would have let them hate me a little more often.

Now that my son is grown, I look back with a lot of regret. I wish I could turn back the clock and help him in ways that I didn't; I wish I could go back and encourage him in ways that would have helped him figure out who and what he wanted to be a little bit sooner. Maybe this is what happens to every mother when her kids leave the nest. Maybe we all doubt we've prepared them as well as we could have. Or maybe it's just me.

All I know is that he's another year older and so am I. As I baked him his favorite chocolate cupcakes, I could only wish for one thing - that the coming year would bring him happiness and bring him closer to getting all the good things in life he deserves.

He's on his way. And now he has wheels.

Sisterhood of the Traveling Pains

My parents have done a lot of wonderful things for me. Let's see, there was that shiny red bike I got one Christmas, the chance to pick out my bedroom furniture and wall color when I was ten, and oh, yeah, providing food and lodging for the first twenty years of my life. All kidding aside, I can never thank them enough for all the blessings they have unselfishly bestowed upon me. But the one that really stands out; the one I appreciate more than any other is the one they gave me fourteen months after I was born - a sister.

Now, I haven't always shown my appreciation of this gift in the way I probably should have (there are rumors of a flying spatula thrown in her direction that took a gouge out of her bedroom wall - lies, nothing but lies) but since today is her birthday, there's no time like the present (and no cheap excuse for a present like a flattery-laden blog).

So, here goes.

My little sister is the most generous, thoughtful, kind, loving, supportive, encouraging (wake up everybody I've got a lot more), sweet, funny, creative, talented, hard-working, honest, empathetic, trustworthy, beautiful (I'll end with that one since, at our age, that's the one that she'll like the most) human being I know. She is ALWAYS there for the people she loves (and often, for the people she only tolerates). She is the best listener (something her older sister is still working on) and the best secret-keeper in the world (something her older sister has worked on and failed miserably). And she's helped me through more late night phone calls than a suicide hotline.

But lately, we've been sharing more than stories of our kids and complaints about our husbands (yes, boys, we do complain about you every now and then). We've been commiserating about our various aches and pains; the multitude of ways that our bodies are finding to sabotage our daily activities. We're experiencing the reality of our mother, grandmothers and great-grandmothers before us, except we're fighting with Whole Foods, yoga and meditation; we're fighting the natural progression of time with every tool at our disposal. Sometimes, the results are nothing short of amazing. Other times, like right this very birthday, someone's splintering body refuses to co-operate. And that's when it gets tough to stay strong in the belief that we can forestall old age forever.

That's why I'm so grateful that I have this amazing woman in my life. We are comrades in arms, perpetually ready to remind each other that our bodies do not define us; that they are just the shells that house our spirits. Maybe our physical limitations, as annoying and frustrating as they may be, are here to teach us something. Maybe we are supposed to slow down a little, exercise our brains instead of our biceps and make use of our knowledge and experience instead of our physical prowess. Most of all, maybe we're supposed to learn to be patient and not be so darn hard on ourselves.

Another birthday should be something to celebrate. Today, I'm celebrating hers.

Reasons to Celebrate

Remember when you looked forward to birthdays? Me neither. Still, like my dad always says, any day on the right side of the dirt is a good day. So, last week I faced another annual celebration with a positive attitude. And you know what? It worked. I spent the whole day celebrating another notch on the birthday belt. I reminded myself that a good friend of mine never got to see the birthday I was celebrating. That's when I started counting my blessings.

1. I'm relatively healthy. Apart from the ubiquitous arthritis and a recurrent bout of plantar fasciitis (which would probably go away if I was smart enough to quit playing tennis), I'm in good shape.
2. Both my parents are still around. With those kind of genes, I should make it long enough to see Paris Hilton become a grandmother.
3. A couple of years ago, I got to take my dream trip to Italy. I could have died happy after that but God decided he wanted me to see a few of the spots we missed. We're going back later this year.
4. I have a husband who loves me and two kids that can tolerate being in the same room with me. On my birthday, my son actually took me to dinner and didn't even bolt right after the last bite was eaten!
5. After years of threats, I actually wrote a novel. More importantly, I completed a first revision and am awaiting the arrival of an actual 252 page paperback with my name on it.
   

I could go on and on. Stopping to count your blessings has a way of putting everything in perspective. In fact, when I think about it, lots of wonderful things have happened in my fifties so edging closer to sixty doesn't scare me nearly as much it used to. As long as I keep learning; as long as I keep moving; as long as I keep trying to grow, getting older can't get me down. As far as I can see, there's only one bad thing about getting older. Those pests from AARP and the Scooter store. They, and their buddies at the Hearing Aid Center, just won't leave me alone. If I could find a way to get off their mailing lists, maybe l wouldn't think about getting older at all.