Forty-something
posted in Birthdays, OmegaMom |When I listen to Santana and Chad Kroeger rocking out on "Into the Night", or listen to Lorena McKennitt or other singers with passionate rhythm sections behind them, I imagine myself dancing in the living room in dim light, with a long, swingy skirt, swaying to the rhythms and putting the world away.
I also imagine myself as a 25-year-old with long hair.
That self-image is resilient. It sticks to me like chewing gum to a hot sidewalk. I look at myself in the mirror and say, "Kate. You’re forty-mumble years old. Your hair is going grey." But when it comes to "seeing myself" mentally, there I am, skinny, sexy, young, dancing.
Not plumpish, lazy, and arthritic.
Sigh.
So today I am forty-mumble-plus-one years old. "Late" forties, to be honest. Very.
My darling geeky husband sent me a birthday email with .kmz file to pull up in Google Earth, pinpointing the spot in Los Alamos, NM, where he remembers us having our first kiss. He and the dotter have made an orange cake and will layer it with either apricot pie filling (preferred) or lemon curd, frost it with lemon frosting, and sing "Happy Birthday" to me this evening.
