Saturday, January 30, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Seems like something should happen today, what with the juxtaposition of 50 and 50. I'll let you know.
Something interesting DID happen last night, something that could have easily been avoided had I not sent a flurry of confusing e-mails about what night I was hosting Book Club. As a result, half the group showed up, and I wasn't even home.
Consequently, while my friend Pam and I were enjoying a poetry reading by two fine writers, Jo McDougal and Steve Paul, my friends Lois and Dee showed up at Chez Daniels, books in hand. Dick invited them in to check their calendars and try to figure out what happened. Our always-cluttered place, even more cluttered than usual, of course. My poor mother, Our Lady of Immaculate Housekeeping was, I'm sure, looking down on me and shaking her head with disapproval. (Sorry, Mom, but if you think my place is bad, you should see Jacquie's.)
Oh, and it gets even better. When Lois got up to leave, Dick saw something in her chair and went to retrieve it, thinking it was her cell-phone. "You forgot something," he said, before realizing it was one of my wayward black socks, you know the kind-- always shimmying out of the load of laundry you carry upstairs. What a graceful note to end on.
So book club is next Tuesday. I've got a lot of cooking, cleaning, wine-buying and kissing up to do. Wish me luck.
P.S. This just in--Thursday at 3, possible tooth extraction, likely root canal. The fun is just beginning . . . . .
Thursday, January 14, 2010
No such luck. We both suck at technical stuff. (And mechanical stuff. And math stuff. And lawn stuff. And reading maps. But we're really good at finding quality wine on sale, helping each other out and cracking each other up, so it all works out.)
Seriously, can you believe that there is no other I-thing in Chez Daniels? Or that my husband is the last remaining person besides my 78 year-old dad who doesn't have a cell phone? Truthfully, I love that about Dick. He is who he is, and he neither apologizes for or worries about what he doesn't know. He doesn't care that every time he borrows my phone, he has to ask how to use it.
Maybe HE should be my role model on aging gracefully or whatever you call it when men age without freaking out about it.
49 days. And counting
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
I, who very rarely go to plays, may have to go see this. The elasticity of time is curious to me. I've had days when five minutes felt like five hours, and vice versa. You probably have too. The play may help remind me that my clock is ticking faster. That fact , as people who get on my nerves say about various ideas, "is neither good nor bad, it just is." They're usually right but that saying bugs me, especially if the one proselytizing to project Zen-like serenity has been known to shake the vending machine violently when their Fritos are hung up in A8. (That is dangerous by the way. And noisy. So don't do it, OK? I can't afford to lose any of my five followers. Plus I know who you are and I like you.)
The second, and cheerier piece, I saw in the Star is that Stephen Walker's documentary "Young at Heart" is on PBS tonight at 9 CST. It's about a group of people deep into their Second Act of life--I don't like the terms "senior citizens" or "elderly. Anyway, they form a chorus and perform songs by Coldplay and the Clash. I saw it a couple of years ago and absolutely loved it. Especially the African-American woman who works so hard to memorize the Pointer Sisters' "I know we can make it. I know darn well we can work it out. Oh yes we can, I know we can can. Yes we can can, why can't we?" My friend Pam K. loved it too. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it. Very tender and inspiring.
So, about getting older, here's what I think--"I know we can make it. I know darn well we can work it out. Oh, yes we can. I know we can can. Yes we can can, why can't we?"
P.S. Thanks for reading. Also, sorry about the error in my use of the word "effected" yesterday. I'm usually so much better about that. Thanks to the reader who brought it to my attention.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
I have no idea what to expect.
I've seen other people turn 50, and it's like watching people dance. Some look great doing it. You can tell they're having fun. They've got some moves and, to be honest, you're a little envious. Others try too hard. Some are graceful and quietly beautiful and, again, you're a little envious. And some, God love them, are having the time of their lives, clueless and carefree about how they appear to the rest of us. After all, it's their 50th birthday--they've earned the right to do whatever they want.
So tell me, what's in store?