I turned 79 on February 23, and am grateful for the chance to write for another day; or maybe even for another year!
I've heard so many people go bonkers over their birthdays. One friend cried when she turned twenty because she'd no longer be a teenager. (You'd think she would have said, "Thank God!) Another friend suffered angst when she turned 30, which is the perfect age, if you ask me. You're old enough to know something, but you're still young enough to accomplish anything you want. Or at least try.
A coworker became furious with me because I brought her a cake and flowers on her 40th birthday. She never got over her anger. Silly me. I thought I was being nice. I had no idea she had a phobia about aging.
When I was about 30, a friend of mine contracted bone cancer. She was a brave woman and suffered greatly; refusing to take any more pain medicine than absolutely necessary so she could spend alert time with her children and husband as long as possible. On the day she died, I promised God that if I could live to raise my three children, I'd never complain about growing another year older. And I haven't. I celebrate!
Usually I celebrate all month. This year I got started a little late because income tax preparation slowed me down. Now that is finished and in the hands of my accountant, so it's party time for me.
But along with the dinners out, ice cream and cake, and dancing on the tabletop, I intend to make sure I get in some writing time. As I sometimes remind younger writers: Writers Write!
