I'm Alive...Oh Oh So Alive...

 So 54 is no more. Welcome to 55!

Last year I settled on #54FucksSake as the hashtag and as I left you a few days ago I was struggling still with what 55 should be. 

The top contenders became #55StillAlive, which seems like the most basic. Yep. I made it. Not super optimistic or inspiring. Just still alive. woo...yay...oh joy... So that didn't really seem right.

So then we moved to #55StillIStrive. Which kind of sums me up. I mean I'm always trying to do something to get that gold star, right? But holy cow, I mean I'm 55, striving sounds like a lot of work. Shouldn't I be in the glide part of life? #55NowOnGlide?

Then a friend posted their birthday in Roman Numerals with a joke and so I thought hmm, #LVThatsMe or #LVLovely. But it still didn't really hit so...

I went back to the thought that I'm done with this. Until I get to 69 and then it will just be #Nice because I mean...you have to right? I don't think I can top #54FucksSake. It was perfection in a hashtag. There isn't one that really speaks to me. I think the joke played itself to its conclusion. So that's decided.

No hashtag this year. (sorry, Michele!)

So let's move on to birthday goals. 

And...

Last year's goals were to get it together. Or more accurately For Fuck's Sake Get it Together! The house, the wardrobe, the schedule. Those were my highlighted areas. Well, the house still isn't finished, I'm still struggling with getting a good schedule working and I think I've decided to toss out the wardrobe I was building and start again. Good job! For fuck's sake...

So with all of that I've been thinking about goals a lot. My normal goals that I used to set on my birthday that moved to January but with a little overarching set of goals still talked about on my birthday and looking at that list from last year I decided...

I'm going to let that go as well. I'll finish out the marks I set for myself for 2023, because I wouldn't be able to sleep if I didn't and then I'm going to just let the goals go again. 

I KNOW the last time I tried this was 2020 and that was not good, but I'm hoping that it wasn't really my lack of goals that brought on a world wide disaster, though if it happens again I SWEAR I will have goals on a rotating basis until the end of time. Promise. 

But instead of goals, for 55 and looking to 2024 as a whole, I am just going to try to apply the things that I do now to reach those goals. Instead of goals just this is the way I live my life sort of thing. That at 55 I've found the things that work for me, I've found the things I enjoy, I've found the things I don't enjoy as much but need to do to keep my body working, my house running well, my life in order and I'm just going to do those things. 

For instance:

I want to write more days than I don't. I want to make sure I'm doing a decent amount of fiction, though I have to say writing one to two short pieces a week has been a lot harder than I realized, so I'll go back to if I'm feeling the muse talk you might get nothing but fiction in a week and if I'm not it will all just be me talking to you about whatever is bopping in my head right then. 

I want to keep consistent with working out. I want to keep moving to make sure I can keep moving. 

I want to make sure my house feels like my home. That means it's clean and organized and my favorite things are out where I can see them. 

I want every piece of clothing in my closet to fit. Not just physically but emotionally. Every piece makes me happy to wear. I know that seems like a heavy lift, but I'm pretty easy to make happy so as long as that plain black t-shirt is soft and fits well it makes me as happy as the polka dot dress with the perfect swish to the skirt. Both are wonderful for different days. That's what I want. No clothes that I have just because they fit, or just because at some point I thought that's a style that I should be wearing.  

I want to make sure that what I'm reading feeds me. Intellectually, creatively, spiritually. However many I read in a year, whatever style, I just want them to be good books. 

I'm 55. I'm a full ass grown woman. I've figured some shit out over the years. And I've realized there are things I never will figure out. I'm not striving or gliding. I'm being more than I'm doing. I've embraced my swings and I'm happy when I'm happy and I'm not when I'm not. 

I will continue to share my opinions freely, not at all shocking to any of you. And I will continue to fight for the protection of those that need it. Because I've got 55 years of fight experience behind me (yeah, I wasn't ever supposed to be born so I count EVERY year as a fighting one) and I will put it to good use. 

So here we go, buckle up, I think it's going to be a good ride at 55. 

And if the mood strikes me, next year we might just get our kicks at 56...

Mercy Sakes Alive, Look Who's 55. 

Fifty Two I'm Through, Yeah, I'm Through with You! ... How's It Gonna Be, 53?

Just reread last year's birthday blog. I was still really raw from the year before so you can feel it in the blog. But I was hopeful. You can feel that too.

I had a few goals I wanted to reach. I had a few hopes for how the year would unfold. And honestly for the most part this year has met them. For the most part. There is one part that has fallen short and it's really casting a pall over the rest, but I'm still hopeful that it will get better. Just not as hopeful. Now it's that bare knuckled holding on to the last shred of it, growling at anyone who fucking dares to try and pry it away hope, but still hope. 

But let's recap the year and set up intentions for the next, shall we?

I set a few goals for the year in my birthday blog last year. Small ones like losing some weight so my knees would stop aching. Big ones like growing my eyebrows in. And ones that weren't goals but hopes like full menopause. And the main one, making it through.

So how did it go? Well clearly I met the main one. Because here we are. Yay! That was the main goal. It seems a little dramatic but pandemic, death surrounding us, the world falling to shit every few months in new and exciting ways. Making it through was a good solid goal and I made it. 

Losing weight? Yeah. Actually. Almost 20 pounds. Now that was due to finding out that what I was eating was making me miserable so I cut out whole groups of foods and that ended up lowering my calorie intake and the extra weight I was carrying as just inflammation in the joints BUT...it totally counts. And I do feel so much better. Like crazy amounts better. I'm still super frustrated by the fact that I had to do it. It still bums me out to have to let go of most of my favorite foods, but it has made such a difference that it is worth it. 

Growing my eyebrows in. Well...as I suspected there is a line that is just never coming back. I'm never going to have the really thick full brows of my youth. But that's okay. I can afford good eyebrow pencils to fill those spots in. It all balances out. 

As far as menopause goes. I did have one day of spotting in October and then a really light barely there period in February so not at a full year just yet. But my doctor and I both agree that I'm basically there. BOOM! 

And then there is the part of the year that just sucked. I was really hoping that by Fall this year we were going to be looking at the tail end of Covid. That vaccines would be rolling and we would all be coming back out of isolation and joining each other. And it looked like we were ahead of schedule for that. This last Spring was SO hopeful and it really seemed in our grasp to be able to move forward and then...not so much. Fuck. And having that hope get crushed made it worse. The frustration is real. The anger at those that won't do their part is tangible. The grief is still raw. That part sucked. Sucks.

So what do I want for 53?

I want it to get better.
I want the world to open back up. 
I want people to stop being so fucking selfish.
Which I get is totally ironic in a list of "I wants"

The coming year is going to be a big one for changes in my life and the way I relate to the outside world. I know it already. I know some of the things that are coming. I have hopes for some others. But I know that it's going to be a big year. And I know that there will be other things I have no idea are coming that will rock my world in good and bad ways. 

Right now I'm holding on to the hope that the world won't shut down and we will be able to have a fun family trip to Disneyland next month. It was one of those Spring optimism plans that has slowly but surely been overtaken by Fall dread. 

We are looking at houses again. This time looking for a one story place. Even with changing my diet and easing the pain I was in I still have arthritis and that's not going to go away. Better to move now while we have some flexibility than get stuck in a few years with an emergency move. 

There are other things big and small that will mark the year. There always are. 

But for now I'm facing the next year with my head up, my heart open, my hope clutched in one hand and knife to cut a bitch if she tries to take it away in the other... Hope, love, joy. Let's do this shit!

And the hashtag this year...

#Joyfully53

It's the best reminder. 

It's My Birthday And...

 ...I'll cry if I want to.

And I'll laugh because shit is hilarious.

And I'll eat treats because they are yummy.

All of it. All of the time.

So...yeah...I knew 51 was going to be rough. Last year on my birthday my siblings and I were hanging around in Death's waiting room watching (from there or afar) my mother fade away. She had made the choice that she was done. And I really was glad for her to let go when she wanted to let go. But...

So when I wrote my birthday blog last year I knew it was going to be a rough year. 

But I had no idea how rough it was going to be.

We lost my mom, Brent's mom and a few friends. We are dealing with a pandemic. The economy is crashed due to the pandemic and we have people who think that the real catastrophe is paying an additional $600 a week to people who have nothing. We are dealing with the fallout of hundreds of years of racial injustice. It's good thing, it's necessary. Hopefully it's a lasting change, but it's still been rough. Growing pains are always rough and maybe, hopefully, We the People are finally growing and changing.

So it's been a good year too. 

Because my mother passed we took an extra trip back to New Mexico last Fall even though we had just been home in the Spring. It will probably be the last time all of my siblings are together in the same room. I didn't take pictures, and should have, but at least I have the memory. 

We also spent a few days visiting with Ann that we wouldn't have had the chance to otherwise. She was going to start traveling more soon. She needed to get her knee replaced and she had an elderly cat that didn't like it when she traveled. As soon as her cat passed and she got that knee done she was going to start coming here more often, or taking more trips with C (they went to New York a few years ago to see The Cursed Child). But because we were all home for the funeral she didn't have to travel to see us. Again, I didn't take any pictures, I had some from May when we all visited before. If I had known it would be the last visit I would have. If she had known her time was a lot shorter than she had thought I would guess she wouldn't have put off the knee surgery or the travel. But we saw her, and that was a good thing. 

We also took a fabulous trip to Disney World in February. Christopher took over a year to plan it all out and we had an outstanding time. It was just when the tendrils of the pandemic were spreading across the country so I feel really lucky that we were able to get there and back before everything shut down, and to do it without getting sick or infecting anyone else. 

Christopher got Covid 19 back in April and recovered fairly quickly and fully as we far as we can tell. That's a really good thing. 

And we got the kittens and they have been hilarious.

So yes, it's been a terrible year. And it's been a great year as well. As most years are. Just this one was on FULL.

So we went from 48 is great, to 49 is prime to 50 is nifty followed by what was supposed to be 51derful but ended up 51 Can we be done? Now we are in 52 pick up. It doesn't rhyme but it fits. Picking up the pieces and starting again. 

You all know 2020 is the no goal year, but birthday years are different than calendar years so let's look at what I want to accomplish for 52. 

I want to make it through. 

Seems dramatic but 51 was a real test so let's just make clear that the bottom line expectation for 52 is #52MakeItThrough (there's a rhyme). Fifty one was enough of a test that I actually forgot my birthday was today until Brent wished me a happy last day of 51 yesterday. Oh...yeah, my birthday is tomorrow. 

I do want to lose some weight. I know, I know, I swear I'm not going to focus on such things but the pandemic and the grief eating and the no gym time have made this one a solid request from the knees. So a fairly significant weight loss would be good. 

And...here's the exciting part that I haven't shared and can't really call a goal because I have ZERO control over it but...I haven't had a period in SEVEN months! Could this really be it? Could I be posting next year about how 52 was a full on menopause year? Fingers crossed!

Though, of course I know that actually is part of the weight issue. And the slowed hair growth issue (it just stopped for a month or so, I joked it was because we couldn't see Sara and my hair wanted to keep it's style). And the dry skin issue. And...Well fuck it! It's worth it! See? Good and bad.

And the really serious part...I'm going to keep growing my eyebrows in. I know, it's a big deal and I can't believe I haven't shared it with you before. When were in New Mexico after Ann died I didn't have a good mirror in the hotel room so no eyebrow grooming. Then I decided to see if I could get them to fill back in, age and plucking tends to make that fairly difficult but why not see? And it's been slow but they take 4-6 months to go through full growth cycles so we will see if I can get back to my dramatic thick brows of my youth...

So you know...priorities. 

And here we go. Another year on the books. Hopefully a better one to come. Even though the pandemic is nowhere close to over and the kittens will only be small for a brief amount of time and I'm not positive that the election will go the way I want and my eyebrows will probably not fully recover; I'm still hopeful. 

And that's the best birthday wish I have for you.

I wish you hope. 

Happy (?) Birthday!

I'm FIFTY-ONE!

Okay, so it's not as big of a deal as 50 was. Nobody dreads 51. Nobody really thinks much about 51. Once you hit 50 you just keep going until you freak out about 55 or 60, I guess.

I mean, not me. You all know how I feel about it all. If you somehow just stumbled upon me then here's your refresher...

Fifty was nifty. It really was. I had so many of my fellow new to 50s join in on the fun. The Fifty is Nifty bandwagon, the age is a gift not a curse movement. It was really great. A really solid good year.

Until the past few weeks, they've been a little rough. Or more than a little. Only a little in comparison to what I know is ahead.

But it's been a good year. And I expect the next year to be rough and hard and sad, but then good again. Or good overall. Or even good while the bad is happening. Because that is the truth of it all, life is a mixed bag. And even in the midst of the worst of it all, there is true beauty and goodness and laughter.

And things that take your legs out from under you.

So, a few weeks ago I stumbled across this picture and as I do I did the math on how old everyone was. And I know how old we all are because of the fight.

Yes, the fight. I was wearing my boyfriend's necklace. And my mother was not happy about it. See, it was a crucifix. In our religion we only show the cross as empty. Resurrection, not death see? The Catholics show the crucifix. And my mother was not pleased that I would wear a crucifix. And I was not going to not wear it so we fought about it. The compromise was that it's tucked under my dress so you can't see it.

But anyway...because I know how old I was I know how old everyone else is. And in this picture my mother is...yep...51. This is a big part of why I've never had an issue with aging. I'm 14 here, still pretty young, and my mother is 51. It's not that old. And she looks great. But want to see something amazing?

This is her 11 years later. Wearing no makeup. And she looks even better! And, just for another comparison, C is just about the same age in this picture as Brian was in the first one.

But basically my mother has been my blueprint on aging. She didn't view it as a bad thing. She also always looked much younger than she was. Which maybe is why she was never bothered by it?

Up until the cancer came she was also very healthy. I've talked before about how she kept Dad healthy as well. He was the oldest living male in his family by a long shot.

They were also the happiest couple I've ever seen. They truly enjoyed each other.

Which is why I think she's so ready to go now. Dad's been gone for awhile. The cancer has never completely gone away. The constant low dose chemo, the side effects, the tiredness. And just the loneliness. I think she's just tired.

So we are waiting. And it gets closer everyday. She lets go more and more everyday.

So yes, 51 is a little less joyful than I had hoped.

But I've had a good role model in life for finding the joy in the everyday. For smiling and forging onward. It's going to be a rough start to the year. And right now I look every inch of my 51 years, you can see them all in my eyes. And in the lines around my eyes. And in the hollows under my eyes...

But if things hold true, in another decade I'm going to be better...

okay, yes, this is actually 50 and 363 days, but it's close enough

So 51...

We're going with #FiftyOnederful even though at times it is most definitely not going to be that.
I'm sticking with the Daily Gratitude posts because I think over the next few months I'm going to really need them.

And we still have 11 days left of Cake and Compliments for Birthday Month so let's keep it going, shall we?

You are all amazing and have been so incredibly supportive of all my wacky ideas and in holding me up while I pre-grieve. If nobody has ever said it, and even if they have, you are rocks. Solid, dependable and incredibly sexy rocks.

Thank you!

Happy Birthday Blog!

I'm linking last year's blog here. When I wrote that I was miserable. And I was so tired of being miserable. Just bone tired. And here we are a year later, so has it changed?

I woke up today on the last day of my 48th year knowing that my country is being led by a crazy man. And that there is a portion of my country that will defend him until he leaves. I spent the last week reading about and listening to people defending racists as peaceful protesters who were sweetly minding their own Blood and Soil business when those mean old anti-racism people somehow made one of them ram a car in to a crowd of people and kill someone. I've spent a week reading about and listening to (AGAIN) people talk about how having Confederate statues around isn't a big deal because how are we supposed to know anything about history if we don't have statues up honoring and revering the CONFEDERATES, who LOST, who were WRONG.

And, listen, I don't care about your arguments that it was a different time; we don't live in that time so we don't have to honor them. I don't want you to try and explain to me how it wasn't about slavery when I can just link you to the articles of secession from the states that started it and you will see in the first or second paragraph of each that it was about slavery. Or you can read the Cornerstone Speech. Or you can just accept that the Confederates lost and we agree that you don't get participation trophies right?

So anyway...the week (the past year for fuck's sake) leading up to birthday weekend has not been great politically or morally. I have to shake my head at people who want me to be nice to the crazy man in the White House just because he is in the White House. Mind you these same people were horrific to the last resident of the White House but that was....ummm...different? I have to shake my head and clench my jaw at the number of people who believe that there is any other response to a Nazi than hell no. I have to shake my head and roll my eyes at people who freak out about a woman wearing a hijab because it's so oppressive but are totally cool with an African American family having to walk past a statue of  Robert E. Lee every day.

The nagging injury I wrote about last year ended up being a gap in the labrum, not sure if it's a genetic issue that it never fused or a tear but I have a gap where the labrum does not attach to the bone to form the full ball and socket joint of the shoulder. The labrum itself had folded over and pinched in to the joint, making it unstable and causing the pain. Possibly able to be fixed by surgery, possibly made worse by surgery. But not going to go away on it's own.

So 48 wasn't any better than 47 right?

Well...no. It was a lot better. It just took some time.

I made a decision as I was writing last year's blog that things were going to change. I was going to fake it until I made it if I had to but things were going to change.

I started the next day with Selfie Saturday. Odd thing right? But I wanted to take time each and every week to mark the time. To smile for a camera and show it was going to be a good year dammit. Today will be the last Selfie Saturday picture and I have to say looking through them yesterday that for the most part I was successful. A few cranky shots, but they were about specific things happening right then. But great adventures and fun days and hockey games and just life going by. Selfie Saturday captured them all.

My shoulder? When I went in for the appointment before the last MRI the doctor was checking range of motion and POP the labrum unfolded from the joint and the pain went away. Oh my goodness...it was a medical miracle! Seriously, he wasn't trying to do that. It just happened. He was like, "I would like to take credit for that and say it was my plan all along but it wasn't. It was a happy accident." Happy indeed! I still can't work out the way I was, but with some modifications my strength has returned and I have VBL again. (visible biceps line)

I put us on a lower sugar diet at the beginning of the year and my steadily climbing weight from last year finally started a slow decent again. I'm still that perpetual 10 pounds away from where I'd like to be but at least it's not still going up. The healthier diet is supposed to help in a number of ways but the only outward sign I've got is the scale so I will take it.

The creative wasteland? Well that stuck around for a few more months. I force choked out a few stories and then at the beginning of the year started an exchange with Dana (god bless Dana) that pulled me the rest of the way out. Writing keeps me sane. I really believe that. When the world around you sucks it's nice to be able to make up a new one to step in to for awhile.

And the month of gratitude that I normally do in November I stretched this year to every day in 2017. When the world is going crazy it's good to remind yourself of all of the really great things there are. To put your head right instead of focusing on the wrongs.

People who needed to go? Well some of them are still around and still taking potshots here and there and I still wonder why they keep me around when they clearly don't like me much. But I've chosen to be philosophical about it. As long as it isn't changing my opinion of myself (and it's not) they obviously need someone to look down on. And if it's me instead of someone who can't shoulder that burden then this is better.

Because that brings us to the end of this blog and the message. I was miserable last year on my birthday. I lined out all of the reasons I shouldn't be. All of the things that were good in my life. But it didn't matter. My depressive side was slowly but surely overtaking my manic side and I was having a bitch of a time stopping it. I've been lucky enough in my life that I've not needed medication to regulate, but I was at the point last year where that was my next step. And there is no shame in that. If you need help get it. If you can regulate your brain chemistry through diet and exercise that's fine, but if you need more that's fine too.

A friend of mine's husband who coincidentally enough shares my birthday lost his battle to depression last year. He had a lot of good things to live for as well. He just couldn't see them anymore. And he couldn't force himself past it one more time. He was also bone tired.

So this year as I reflect on the past year, past two years, I know how lucky I am to have been able to swing my pendulum back. And I ask you all to pay attention to where you are in life. How are you feeling? Is it darker than it should be? What can you do to fix that? Diet, exercise, active gratitude, force perspective change, medication, therapy? What ever it takes please do it. Be here next year to read my navel gazing essay. The world needs you.

Because you are incredible.
So smart.
So special.
Wonderful really.

Now have a piece of cake and raise your fork in my direction and send me a wish for a good year as you do.

Happy Birthday Weekend to us all!

The Obligatory Birthday Blog...

So let's start with the first disclaimer. I almost didn't write this this year. Up until 5 minutes ago when I sat down and opened up the blog page it was still a big maybe. Truth be told until I hit publish it still is. So that's the first disclaimer. There will probably be more sprinkled throughout.

I've done these recap sort of blogs on or around my birthday for a few years now. It's a good reminder for me as to what has happened, where I am, where I want to go. For the past few years I've taken a few moments on my actual  birthday to do them. Sort of a present to myself. This year I'm doing it early. I'm busy tomorrow and not sure I'll have time and honestly I am so looking forward to this year being over that I don't want to revisit it past today. I can't wait to see 47 in my rear view mirror.

There are years where you can pinpoint what is wrong with them. Deaths. Illness. Money issues. Loss of friendships or loves. All of the above. This year hasn't really had that. In fact we've had friends healing from serious illnesses, babies being born, friends getting married, financial decisions that leave the money in our pocket instead of someone else's. And still...just not a good year.

I'm in a creative wasteland.

I can't get over a nagging injury that is preventing me from doing things I want to.

I am worried about the state of my country for the first time I can remember. Like actually who the fuck ARE these people worried.

I figured out that a few people that I thought had my back, did, but only as a storage place for their cutlery. And even then I can't work up enough of a "mad" about it to do the weeding out that I should. I just get a little ticked when they do something nasty, wonder why they hell they stick around when I'm obviously not someone they like, and then move along. Maybe they know that weeding me out is more trouble than it's worth as well.

I've not been myself for so long now that I'm worried that this is actually who I am now.

Disclaimer #2. I am not writing this to be jollied out of it. Or have things pointed out that are great. I'm writing this so there isn't a gap in the years when I look back on past birthday blogs. I'm writing it so that when the ennui ends I will remember that it comes and goes. So this is strictly for me.

It's not like I'm not aware that I'm not my best right now. I totally am. And it's not like I haven't made some moves to fix it. I've made lists. I've made decisions. I've made plans. I've figured out the issues. I've resolved to fix it. And then....meh. It's too much.  I don't care. Life is fine...really.

Even if I never did get any Christmas spirit last year. Even if my weight has steadily climbed all year. Even if I spend more time biting my tongue than telling people what I think. Even if I don't even have to bite my tongue half the time now I just don't care enough to tell them. Or I just don't believe they will listen. Seriously, people don't even bother looking, reading, listening, to anything anymore to form opinions, they just mold what the headline says to fit their narrative. I told Brent the other day I needed the "That's not how this works, that's not how any of this works" meme changed to "That's not what this means, that's not what any of this means." so I can post it on 80% of the linked articles out there.

Disclaimer #3. My life is great. It actually is. I know this. I have a good strong marriage to a very attractive and intelligent man who tells me I'm pretty and smart and kind, and honestly believes those things. I have a great adult child living his life independently. I have money in the bank. Food in my belly. Clothes on my back. And the ability to get more of those things when or if I need them. So I know my life is great. That's not it.

It's just... My shoulder isn't fixed. I fell down the stairs last weekend and wrenched it again. So even the not as healed as I would like but maybe getting there is gone. I have another MRI to look forward to, and we all know how well that went last time. I am still pretty sure it's going to come back with, "We have no idea why it's doing this." Because my shoulder isn't fixed I am losing strength in my left arm. I'm actually losing strength in both arms because I can't lift weights, but just resting strength is going away. Last week I carried in a bag of cat litter for the cats we are house sitting. This week it took me two tries to get it upstairs to refill the box. I'm actually getting measurably weaker. This makes me insane. Just knowing how hard I worked to get where I was and knowing that I am not in a place where I can start stemming that damage is making me nuts. Disclaimer #4 I know this is not that big of a deal and there are many more people with bigger health issues.

But this was all last year. Tomorrow is 48. Tomorrow starts a new cycle. I will figure out what is wrong with my shoulder and get back my strength. I will get my muse back and my people will all be at the bar waiting to tell me their stories. I will remodel my house, figuratively and literally. I will have a better year. Because Disclaimer #5, I refuse to believe this is just who I am now. Because she's a real drag and I do not need that sort of nonsense in my life.

Happy birthday to me.

HAPPY birthday to me.

HAPPY HAPPY birthday to me.

Gracefully...

The tub filled slowly. She dipped a toe in the milky water and took a deep breath. Warm vanilla sugar. Smiling to herself remembering the years of Love's Baby Soft, then Jean Nate, Tresor, Miracle...and now the smell of a warm kitchen on a cold day. How things change.

Easing in to the bath the water creeping over legs marked with old scars. A lifetime of stories in the marks. Tripping over barbed wire at camp now nothing more than a silver line at her ankle. A bump of scar tissue on her knee once the worst thing she could think of now just a mark over an angry joint that complained when it got too cold outside. As the water covered her thighs she smiled remembering the photographer on her wedding day telling her that one day she would look back at the picture of her slipping the garter on and wish for thighs so thin. On that day she had thought how ridiculous, she needed to lose 5 pounds after all. Thirty years and thirty pounds later she understood.

But now she knew they were strong legs. They had walked a thousand miles. Squatted for hours over Lego buildings and chalk drawings. Run to catch a falling toddler and stayed still to let a grown up leave the nest. They were thick. Thin thighs were something for a child to aspire to, She was happy with her strong ones that had taken her everywhere she wanted to go, and held her man close when she didn't want to go anywhere.

Easing deeper in to the bath the water caressed her stomach. Not as flat as it used to be. Crossed with stretch marks that never went away. Soft fold of skin that was left as a reminder of the life she nurtured in her own body. Rock hard abs sound good but a warm inviting lap for a child, a pet, comfort on a bad day, that was better.

Her breasts rocked in the water. Unruly things they had become. They were healthy which was a blessing to her. They weren't as firm as they used to be, but they were full, lush...Silky. Responsive. Hers.

She relaxed and felt the muscles of her face let go. There was a little girl who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead had turned in to there was an older woman who had a crooked line right between her eyes... The first time she had noticed it she thought "where did that come from?" and as soon as she concentrated and her eyebrows dipped she saw...It was her thought line. Like a fault line under the earth's crust it was the line where her thoughts pushed against each other until one came out triumphant. Or that's what she liked to think.

She smiled...crinkle lines around her eyes. Crow's feet. Did you know that crows are the smartest birds? Really. They can figure out puzzles, they mourn their dead. There was a study at a university years ago where this professor and his assistants captured and tagged a few crows then released them. The crows were not thrilled with this, by the way, and started dive bombing and attacking these people when they would walk around campus. Not just the crows they had captured, but all of the crows. And did I mention they were wearing masks when they did the capturing and the masks didn't matter? The crows still knew who they were. And TOLD THE OTHER CROWS. AND THEN THEY PASSED IT ALONG TO THE NEXT GENERATION! I think the results of the test were...don't fuck with crows. So a few crow's feet around her eyes was fine with her.

The eye crinkles, the thought line, those joined the laugh lines she had. More years spent with a smile on her face than a scowl. She would take it. Then there was the one deep groove above her lips. The mark left from her years as a smoker. Lips pursed around a cigarette. It was a good reminder to her to watch herself. What seems like nothing can end up being something later in life. Listen to the warnings. Pay attention to those that came before you. They know. And get out of a bad situation before it gets worse. One wrinkle is better than lungs riddled with disease after all.

Running her hands through her hair. Years of long had given way to short. Her hair had been her vanity until she realized it could be a gift to someone else instead. Then she grew it and cut it with regularity. Up until the silver gray threads went from a few to a few more to how many of you are there? Then she cut it all off and embraced her new glitter. Each sparkling silver hair was a reminder of an adventure. Those times when she ran to catch that falling toddler? Silver hair. The times she had to let him fall on his own. More silver hairs. Time passes and it leaves gifts. Threads of sparkling silver in her brown locks were part of a crown.

Time moves. Bodies change. Muscles soften. But so do rigid thoughts. An expanding mind is more important than an expanding back side any day.

Warm water in a bath tub smelling like a freshly baked cookie.

A body strong and healthy.

Yet soft and lush.

Life is good.

The stories tell of wicked queens bathing in the blood of young virgins to keep their youth. They should have been washing in the essence of grown women instead. Fuller. Juicier. And more powerful than they could have ever imagined.

Gracefully.

Two, 46, eight....

Here we are again....birthday blog time.

I've been doing this for a few years now. Almost didn't do it this year but then thought I would probably regret it if I didn't. Here is last year's blog, and in it are links to the previous years. And that's really part of why I almost didn't do it this year. A lot of what I spent my year working on are things I have spent the years previous working on. I seem to be on a track and no matter how many times I leave I go right back to my same circle. Working the same issues. Maybe with a different spin (so to speak) but really the same things.

I talked about how 44 was the year of feeling old. Well let me tell you that paled in comparison to getting the arthritis diagnosis at 45. Arthritis? What the heck? But yes, in my knees. The right knee especially. Physical therapy and rehab. I've made jokes about it, and the doctor did tell me it was pretty early onset. But it still makes me feel old when I listen to the creak creak grind as I walk up the stairs. Ugh.

Weight? Oh hell yeah, we are still dealing with weight. With two years spent on various IR lists I've gotten softer and softer and softer. I've tried the pep talk, "you look fine" I've tried the reasoning, "your boobs look really good at this weight you know" I've tried the logic "you are doing the best you can right now." But bottom line is that weight is still an issue. And I still fight the unhealthy urge to stop eating because I can't work out as much or as hard as I would like to. But the good news is I have been successful in fighting that urge, so maybe I have made good progress over the years after all.

Not quite at fighting weight, but still fighting my weight.

Writing. Well, I've tried to get to be more consistent writing and posting here. Still the mix of fiction and non-fiction. I sent in a couple of short stories again this year (first time I've told anyone) and heard....nothing. Still not making any headway there. Brent is still trying to convince me to self publish but I am much too lazy to go that route. Seriously. The level of self promotion you have to be willing to do shuts down my drive to write each and every time. I did do the NaNoWriMo challenge last November and put 50,000 words towards a story I had originally started here on the blog. And I have not looked at it since. I keep meaning to go back and edit and add to it, but it just seems so....Overwhelming? I don't know. Something about expanding it that quickly just made it somehow not mine. I know it needs serious work and probably a whole rewrite, and so I retreat back to my bar friends and let them comfort me with their simple short stories. Some day I will fix the other. But for now writing is still here. Just moving along slowly. But I still enjoy it, and I still feel like I have something to share so that's all good.

Parenting. Oh man. That was a big one this year. C's senior year. His broken ankle and the angst of not going to his rescue on that one. Then graduation and him entering the job search. Then him landing a job within two weeks of graduation and moving out. Not just off to school temporarily out but out out! What the heck? I'm not done with you yet! You are fun to hang around, we have summer to do stuff! You have ankle rehab and I have knee rehab and we are doing it together and adding back in hiking where we can hobble along together and it won't be so terrible and...damn...you got all grown and shit...

Yeah okay, that's actually pride there on my face. 

So for all of the "me, me, me" in that last section really what I felt and feel is proud of him. He did great in school. Good grades, good plans by adding classes he knew would help him in the job market, good impression on the people he worked with through school which led to a recommendation for a job interview which he nailed. Then settling in and starting to find his way in a new town. AND remembering to call his mother on her birthday before heading in to work this morning. Let me tell you how surreal that was. I was getting ready to head in to the gym when the phone rang. He was on his way to work and I was on my way to play. What a switch! But yeah, he's all grown now. Really and truly my job is just as back up support. And way way back up. Odd....

We also lost our dear sweet George this year. Okay, he wasn't really sweet, he was an ornery little shit at times, but he was my ornery little shit. Losing him was harder than I had really imagined it would be. We've decided (or I should say I've decided) that we are waiting a year before getting another pet. At least. Then I will decide what we do next. Brent says he will do whatever I want so for now we are waiting. 

And some of you might have also noticed there was no birthday month this year. After years and years of enjoying it, the past few years have been spent explaining it so often that it sort of sucked the joy out. And one of the things I did decide (you remember from August challenges) was not to do things that aren't me anymore. And not joyful is not me. So birthday month didn't happen. It might come back again, it might not. But it just wasn't working for me this year so my low key birthday became even more so.

Which led to this circular blog. Still dealing with old things working toward new things. What will 46 bring? Who knows but I would guess writing, weight and what to do with myself now that the nest is well and truly empty will feature large. 

And looking back to look forward...

See I got all artistic and shit with that last one...

And I know that this post is a bit melancholic for a birthday post but it's my birthday and I'll reflect if I want to...

(double pun for the picture! Boom!!!)

Bring on 46.

Another year in the books...

I seem to have started my own birthday tradition. A couple of years ago I decided to write a little re-cap blog about my year. Then last year I decided I liked it so much I would do it again. (Just as a little aside the first time I entered those hyperlinks I linked to the wrong blog postings. I was tempted for a little bit to leave them in just to see if you noticed.) So now it's time for the "What I did with my Summer Vacation Entire Year" blog.

So if 42 was the year of adjustments and 43 was the year of contemplation and meditation 44 was the year of...well feeling old.

As most of you know I've never really been hung up much on age. I will joke about getting older, that pop noise that you hear when you stand up in your 40s, "are you okay?", "I'm fine, just old." But age has never really been a thing. My parents were in the their late 30s when I was born. My first real memories of them they were already 40. They were in their 50s when I was in high school.  Older for me has always skewed much older than it has for my friends. Turning 30 and turning 40 weren't big deals. I didn't have that crisis of faith where I thought my best years were behind me and I was becoming old. Aging just wasn't an issue. Everyone gets older, if they are lucky, and you have choices, you can do it with grace or you can fight against it, but it's going to happen.

So imagine my surprise when this year my age came up and smacked me in the face. It started with the fitness challenge I started last year right about this time. I had big plans, super workouts to get ultra fit and see how much I could push my body to tone and tighten and be awesome. Well what I found out was that at 44 I couldn't push like that anymore. I needed more downtime and recovery. And I found out that when I tried to stubborn my way through the pain it didn't fade, as it would have in my 20s or even my 30s but it got worse. What the actual fuck? I was pissed. How dare my body not do what I wanted it to do. But I adjusted. Not happily, but I put the brave face on it. It was a challenge to see how far I could push, and I got my answer. Not as far as I thought. And when I backed off I healed up. So that was fine.

Then I hit the wall. Okay, not a wall. It was C. Walking back from the park when we went to Disney for Christmas I was looking to the side instead of in front of me and C stopped to avoid running in to a drunk girl who was weaving her way down the sidewalk. BAM! I ran straight in to him. Jammed my foot on the back of his. Saw stars for a minute and the whole bit. Went back to the hotel, put it up, iced it down and...well it was fine the next day. A little sore, but not bad really. But it kept coming back. And then it got worse.

After a few visits to my primary doc I got the referral to the specialist. Chronic injury. Chronic is never a good thing. It means it's sticking around. Basically what I did was peeled the cartilage at my toe joint. So where the big toe meets the rest of the foot the cartilage in there is sliced. When it is laying down flat it feels fine, if it gets bunched or lifted it hurts like a son of a gun. The only thing to fix it is surgery which comes with its own issues so we are delaying that as long as possible. The way to help delay that is with a change in lifestyle, low heeled shoes, different workouts, more structured every day shoes. And so I made all the adjustments. Then when I went in for the follow up appointment the doctor got mean. He described how the injury happens. It comes from years of wear on the joint, through the high heels, through the hundreds of times you stub your toe, all of that adds up to weaken the structure so a good solid hit like the one I took can cause damage.

Basically, you are old and worn out so this is what happened.

See? Mean.

Then we went to Chicago and I ached after walking around the city. Yes, part of that was I had the wrong shoes with me for humidity and walking. Yes, part of that was my gait was off because my feet hurt. Yes, part of that was because I am in the worst shape I've been in for years because I am still trying to figure out what to do workout wise that isn't boring as all get out. But the bottom line was I ached. It wasn't the "oh boy I'm sore, that was a good workout" it was, "holy crap my hips hurt and I'm not sure I'm going to be able to stand back up now that I've sat down."

See, I've kept my weight in check without working out but I am not in any sort of cardiovascular shape. And I'm softer than I've been in ages. When I first got the "things have to change" diagnosis I started working on changing and altering things. Just straight up toning, push-ups, sit-ups, leg lifts, and trying to workout out using heel leads instead of pointing or flexing my toes. But it was starting to make me bored and bummed. I never do well doing what I'm told I have to.

Yes, you read that right, I responded to feeling old by acting childish.

And then the capper was a few weeks ago lying in bed I had the thought that I was going to die someday. Now that's not a new thought at all. Everyone knows they are going to die. But the realization that at some point the me that I am is just going to stop. For what ever reason (the I've been feeling old reason I am sure) it actually hit me this time. The me that I am is going to stop at some point. Made me understand why people like the idea of an actual heaven where they live for ever. The just stopping thing is a little disconcerting.

So 44 was the year of feeling old. Which is okay. I am middle aged. Even with the most optimistic view of my life span I am solidly in the middle of it and working on the second half. I will never be as young as I used to be. I will never again be able to get away with the abuse I put my body through in my teens and twenties. And for the first time I actually felt old. Now that I've felt it though, I think I'm done with it. I'm not going to get any younger, my body is still going to be able to do just what it can and no amount of bullheadedness or childish pouting is going to change that, but I am solidly middle aged. There is a lot left to get through and the realization that maybe I should be treating it like I'm halfway through because I'm not getting any younger is a good one.

So what will 45 bring? We've had adjustment, meditation, realization and now what? I guess you'll just have to wait until next year to see.

How B and D found their C....

For anyone who knows me you already know all of these stories so you can just skip the blog today. I just realized that I don't think I have ever written them down and since I can't think of a better day to do it, I am doing it now!

As you all know Brent and I married as mere children. We knew a few things about kids and our future when we got married. We knew we wanted them and we knew we weren't ready for them yet. Now fast forward a few years. Brent was ready long before I was, I had actually started to rethink my position on having children at all by this point. We had friends who had kids and their lives were completely different from the lives of our childless friends. I liked our life and wasn't really sure I wanted to change it. But Brent was positive he wanted them. I used to joke that he was going to get us kicked out of the mall because he was staring at the babies too much. He doesn't remember it this way, but the man had baby fever.

The other thing I also knew about us and kids was that I didn't want to have kids while he was still going out to sea. He would leave for 6 months at a time and though 6 months out of my life wasn't a huge change 6 months out of a baby or child's life means you are coming home to a whole different kid. Or a brand new kid. The first guys off of the ship when it would get back from cruise were the new dads. Men whose children had been born while they were gone. I couldn't even imagine Brent missing the birth of his child. I also didn't sign up to be a single mom and had no urge to take on that role. So we waited until he got shore duty to decide to go ahead and take the plunge. In fact the call I got while he was on his last cruise was "I've got shore duty in Idaho until my enlistment is over. Stop taking the pill."  He also doesn't remember that part, but trust me it happened.

So while he was finishing up his cruise I was finishing up my birth control. He got home the day before Thanksgiving 1991 and I took the pregnancy test on February 2, 1992. I would have taken it a few days earlier but we went to Disneyland that weekend and I didn't want to risk knowing I was pregnant and not be able to ride any rides. See, I knew that at that point in time if I was pregnant that the baby was pretty solidly protected, but I also knew that as soon as I saw the "No Pregnant Women" sign on a ride I wouldn't ride it. So I did the logical thing and didn't take the test. So there you go, C's first trip to Disneyland was when he was just a few weeks past conception.

The day I picked up the pregnancy test I was already starting to show. I've always had a, let's say, ample bosom, but that Sunday I put on the t-shirt I had bought at Disney the day before and thought, "Wow! This makes my boobs look huge!" Then we went to the grocery store and I proceeded to knock over a display of oranges with them. See, when you are used to a body part sticking out a certain distance and all of a sudden it sticks out farther than that your spatial relations are a bit off. So yes, the first place I showed was in my boobs (which is totally normal) and the way we first realized it was by me knocking over a pyramid of oranges with them. So while we were at the store we picked up a test. One pink line for pregnant, no pink lines for not pregnant. What I got was a bright fuchsia THICK line. We decided I wasn't a little pregnant, I was very pregnant.

We had one small scare a few weeks in to the pregnancy where I started spotting. Trust me I was starting to regret the Disneyland trip right about then. We ended up at the hospital and I got a transvaginal ultrasound. The reason I bring that up is because since I've had one every time it's brought up in the abortion debate I can speak to just what one is, and how invasive it really and truly is. Now as any woman who has had a baby can tell you the invasive procedures you endure during a pregnancy are many and varied, but this one is in a league of it's own. Anyway, we had the ultrasound and everything was fine. He wasn't far along enough at that point to be anything more than what they called a fetal pole. Not even a heart beat yet just a flutter and the thickening where he was. But it showed that he was fine and the spotting was nothing to worry about.

I remember a few things very clearly from that appointment, the transvaginal ultrasound of course. And being so relieved that Brent was able to come with me. See, in the military it's not a given that your spouse can get the time off to come with you to appointments so I am not sure if it was a day off for him, or how he got the time but he got it and that's a good thing because I was terrified. Then there was the sheer relief of knowing that he was fine. And the last thing, Almond M&Ms. There was a vending machine at Balboa near the office I had the ultrasound and after the appointment we got Almond M&Ms out of the machine. They were brand new and I swear they were the best thing ever. Stress eating chocolate after hearing the pregnancy was fine. It took years for those M&Ms to go mainstream and they are still one of my favorite candies. The mix of chocolate, almonds, candy shell and relief...it can't be beat.

So after our brief scare the rest of the pregnancy was pretty non-eventful. If you call moving from San Diego to Idaho Falls and changing houses there twice before C was born non-eventful. The second move before he was born might have been the first "parenting" decision we made. The house we picked out when we went back up to Idaho Falls was fine. Not great, just fine. But it had some issues and the farther along I got in the pregnancy the more the issues started to bother me. The house was older and had some drafts. The landlord was a nice enough guy but not really quickly responsive to problems. Finally I decided that there was no way I was going to be able to bring my baby home to that house. I can't remember what the last straw was, possibly a loose board in the kitchen, but I found another place. Much more expensive. More house than we needed. But cleaner, newer, better maintained and with a washer and drying in the main house. And so we moved.

You will also notice I called C he from the start. I knew I was having a boy. Just knew it. The ultrasound at 19 weeks or whenever it was just confirmed it, but I already knew. We did go ahead and pick out a girl's name just in case. If C had been a girl he would have been Britney. How does that happen? Names rise up and become popular? There weren't a lot of Britney's around at the time, I actually don't even know where we came up with it, but by the time he was in school there was almost always one in his class if not two. In fact a friend of ours was so glad we had a boy because she was due a few months after us and she wanted to take the name! And of course, Ms. Spears. We went through a lot of boy names before we settled on Christopher. I liked some unconventional choices, Chance and Chase. We both liked Parker and talked about Alexander. Evan or Ethan were in there as well. But once we said Christopher out loud that was it.

So fast forward to the last month of pregnancy. My first appointment in September comes and I am dilating already! They told me I was going to be early and to be prepared for him to come any day now. The next week, same thing. Oh any day now. The next week...the next week...Finally the last week of September they tell me to come in on the following Monday and we will talk about inducing labor. I was huge by this point. I had been partially dilated for a month. I was more than ready to get this kid out. My official due date was October 1. Which came and went without event. Then the morning of October 2 arrives.

Brent had been working rotating shift work and was coming off of mids (working all night, sleeping all day) on to day shift. His routine was to stay awake all day the first day off and force his body to shift over to sleeping at night that way. So October 2 is the first day off of mids and he hasn't slept since 4pm October 1. We were having dinner that night with friends of my family that were living in Idaho Falls at the time and my parent's best friends (the people that would have had custody of my siblings and I if anything happened to them) who happened to be traveling through town. But here's the trick, I started having contractions that morning. Small ones, very far apart. So we went walking. We walked all over the mall and all over Shop-ko (like a Target) and timed those contractions. They stayed at about 30 minutes apart all morning. Then up to 15 minutes apart.  I can't remember now exactly what it was but it was something like we weren't supposed to go to the hospital until they were 10 minutes apart for an hour, or 5 minutes apart for a half hour...anyway, they weren't so we didn't.

We were at dinner with our family friends that night and I am chatting with my mother's friend and I keep glancing at my watch. Barbara finally has had enough of my rudeness, "Is there someplace else you need to be, young lady?" I apologized and let her know I had been in labor all day and was just timing my contractions. Well that changed the entire tone of the conversation, believe you me. But I will never forget how upset she was with my rudeness at constantly checking my watch while people were talking.

So dinner is over and we head home. Contractions still too far apart to go to the hospital even though I had been in labor all day.  Brent goes to bed and I try and rest. About a half hour after he fell asleep they sped up and got much more intense. Any first time mother wonders how you know when real contractions start. There are so many mild ones and even false ones that you think, how will I know? You know. It's a totally different thing than what you had before and the only thing it feels like is contractions so you can't ever explain to anyone what to expect. So I am timing them, and it's time to go to the hospital. I am trying to get Brent to wake up and he is struggling with that. But we got him up and us out the door and finally I am going to give birth!

Or not. We got to the hospital around 10. I went through transition around midnight. While Brent was sleeping in the chair a few feet away from my hospital bed. Now I did not have an epidural during C's delivery. The thought of having a needle in my spine was so much more terrifying to me than the thought of any pain. This is the time I started to wonder the wisdom in this choice. There used to be a comedian (and I can't remember who it was, maybe Rita Rudner?) who said that they tell you that women don't remember the pain of childbirth...sure...stupid women. You don't forget the pain. You just can't describe it. Or you choose not to scare the bejeezus out of every pregnant woman you meet by telling her, but you remember. And while I was going through this part there was Brent sleeping peacefully a few feet away. If I could have gotten to him I would have pinched him. But between the contractions and the I.V. and the other wires I was pretty much stuck. Lucky man.

So transition lasted a few hours. By a few I mean A LOT OF HOURS. I wasn't ready to start pushing until 4:30. By this time Brent had woken up from his much needed nap and I had forgiven him for daring to sleep when I couldn't. And I made him tell the nurse she was going to have to stop talking. See she would come in to check on me and she was so loud. And one of those we talkers. How are we? Are we feeling okay? It was driving me nuts. So I told Brent he was going to have to go out in the hall and tell her to shut up or I was going to lose my shit. Once she quieted down and Dr. Hall gave me a touch of Demerol in my I.V. I was feeling much better. So then it was finally show time. But it didn't work out so well.

We have talked before about how C works on his own time table. He won't be rushed. Pokey kid really. Well he started at birth. Not only was he two days past his due date after a month of "any day now" he still wasn't ready. I would push, he would start to come out, I would rest and he would slide back home. Finally the monitors began pinging that he was in distress, I was exhausted by this point as well, I had been straining so hard that I actually stretched the ligaments in both wrists. So out came the forceps. I am glad I had the doctor I did at this point. They didn't use them on his head but to hold me open to slide him out more easily. And by more easily I mean Dr. Hall cranked me open and put his hands inside my vagina to pull out the boy. Yeah, no epidural...I'm a genius. But still, all things considered this is much better for the baby than if they had used them on his head.

I've written about the first few weeks at home before so I won't talk about that again (since this blog is already SUPER long).

It's been 20 years today since C joined us in his own unique way. Being a parent changes you in ways that you never expected and I am so grateful for all of them. Happy Birthday to the best thing Brent and I ever made.