There are self-help books on nearly every subject under the sun written by people who profess to know more than you, but I've yet to see any literature on aging. I'm not talking about health matters or choosing a senior living home, I'm talking about how to act, look, and dress. We tell teenagers to "act like an adult" (good luck with that). At the opposite end of the spectrum now, I'm tired of acting like an adult. There is great liberation in being silly, wearing funny hats, doing a little dance step in the aisle at the grocery store when the Muzak moves me, smiling at people for no good reason, wearing trademark bibbies instead of a housedress, milking goats when I should probably be crocheting doilies, and, in general, doing whatever I please. I eat whenever I'm hungry, sleep whenever I'm tired, and never run out of opinions to voice. My circumspect, staid parents would undoubtedly be appalled. Oh well. Since there is no manual to follow, I'll march to my offbeat drummer. Anyone who gives me strange looks can just put it down to, "Well, she's old," and cut me some slack. When I turned 25, thinking that was a lovely, mature age, my niece (all of 6 years younger) called and said, "Twenty-five, a quarter of a century old. I can remember when you were young!" That pretty much popped my balloon. Thankfully, she did not comment yesterday when I turned three-quarters of a century! How time does fly. I received so many notes, cards, and phone calls from those dear to me, that was cause enough for celebration.
Even Fu Manchu was on board yesterday and we got the front yard mowed before it started raining. Given current conditions, even the rain was a gift. With any luck, however, it will dry off by tomorrow when the work crew comes up. Two weekends in a row with my Kids is worth more than gold. Inga continues to improve and that makes me happy.
It was a good day, a very, very good day.