They Say It's Your Birthday, It's My Birthday Too, Yeah

Since I started this blog in August, I keep referring to the fact that I’m almost 60. Well, I can no longer say that. Today, I AM 60.

Not really sure how I feel about it. Well, come to think about it, I am sure. I’m not crazy about it. I know, I know, it’s better than the alternative. Still, 60 truly is what I considered to be elderly as a child and a young adult. And the fact that my mother died at age 69 doesn’t help matters.

Growing old is funny business. I certainly have more aches and pains, but aside from that, I feel the same as I did when I was 30. Or 10, for that matter. Unless I look in the mirror of course. But growing old is so gradual that you hardly feel it happening. That’s good I guess.

I remember my landmark birthdays. When I turned 20, I was in college at the University of Nebraska, and my mom and dad, who by that time had moved to Leadville, Colorado, had a big birthday cake delivered to the sorority house where I lived so that the whole group could celebrate my birthday. Fun.

I spent my 30th birthday in bed with strep throat. I was sick as a dog. I was also in the throes of my divorce, so it definitely wasn’t the best time of my life. I had a difficult time turning 30, and I’m sure that’s why. I felt as though I was a failure.

Turning 40, however, was a piece of cake. I was happily remarried and my career was in full swing. I was just about to earn my master’s degree. We had recently moved into a pretty house. All was good.

Bill and I spent Thanksgiving in London the year I turned 50. On the way home, there was a man sitting in the seat in front of me on the plane who had a terrible cold. He spent the entire flight hacking and sniffing. I managed to catch that cold. It’s the worst cold I have ever had to this day. It was in my head and my chest, and I even managed to get pink eye. The cold went on for weeks. But the thing is, I had made plans for a gigantic birthday celebration .My sister flew in from Washington, DC, and my brother drove in from Arizona. My sibs even ordered a turducken for the occasion! (A chicken stuffed into a duck which is stuffed into a turkey.) Unfortunately, it was a party I barely remember. Here is a photo we took on that day 10 years ago:

My pink eyes were barely open!

So here I am, age 60, and very content with my life. My family is having some sort of celebration in my honor. The details are at this point a secret, though the grandkids know and it is all they can do to keep from telling me. The other night when I tucked 5-year-old Maggie into bed, she said, “Your birthday is coming and I know something I can’t tell you.” She giggled and snuggled her face deep into the pillow in an effort to keep the words from coming out. So I will be surprised. And what’s more, my sister who now lives in Arizona instead of D.C. flew in yesterday for the celebration. What joy.

I just have to remember that birthdays are just another day and 60 is just another age. I have a wonderful life and I am mostly healthy so I am grateful for all 60 years.