It’s birthday week for me. Don’t ask how old I am. I say this not to avoid revealing my age, but because I don’t feel up to doing the math. I decided long ago that I would not dwell on the number, and I seriously have to back up to my year of birth to figure it out. But no one questions the age any more. That’s just one of the benefits I see to getting older.
That avoidance of the age issue also means I no longer get those “humorous” birthday cards about memory loss, gray hair, sagging boobs, or birthday cakes on fire. And if I do, it’s most likely to come from someone who’s older, and that’s okay.
I am quite aware that gravity has taken its toll in the form of crow’s-feet, a permanently furrowed brow (thanks, kids), and saggy jowls. But the cool thing about that is that nature has provided me with my own little permanent soft-focus filter in the form of declining eyesight. Everyone else may see me in HD, but that’s not my problem.
