Birthday Greetings Bottle of Wine

When Sargent Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was released, my parents were much too busy to notice. They had four kids, a family business, and learned a couple of months after taking the two youngest to Disney, that (oops) Mom was expecting their fifth.  As the oldest and built-in babysitter, needing me and feeding me took on its own meaning.  They needed me to watch the tribe, and for that, they'd feed me.

So this is my last week before the "GOOD-GOD-HOW-DID-I-GET-TO-BE-THIS-OLD?" number. While Paul McCartney hasn't knocked on my door to sing this love ballad, it hasn't stopped me from belting out the lyrics when no one is around to laugh.

I'm older; not losing my hair but not dying it either.  I've gotten the hang of using the brightening shampoo only sparingly so my hair doesn't turn a subtle shade of lavender.  While mentally younger than 64, physically, the jury is still out.  There are moments when I look in the mirror and the face and body that stares back at me is as frightening as Freddy Krueger. My waistline is pictured on milk cartons with the caption "Have you seen me?"  And if that's not enough of a reminder that time is marching on, the new little red, white and blue card that says I'm a ward of the good old USA for basic healthcare sure does.

Staying our till quarter to three is a joke...unless it's three in the afternoon, which is when I locked the door accidentally with no keys to get back in.  Twice.  Still, I made it past my bedtime to see Bruce on Broadway, more than a half-dozen other shows and some of the best local bands on the shore. My age didn't stop me from going to some great theme festivals-Renaissance, Irish, Seafood and Chinese Lantern. The bonus was checking off a Bucket List item by marching two miles in the NYC St. Patrick's Day Parade with Son #1 and his GF.

I downsized to a townhouse, so I have no need to be handy mending a fuse. My new neighbor shared his generator when the lights were gone in a blackout (and G&T's when only a cold drink would do). I knit by the fireside, crochet too, and in doing so, discovered that naps on the couch aren't such a bad thing. Sunday morning, go for a ride to run errands is the new normal. A couple of adventurous Thelma and Louise-type friends even joined on a day trip to the Woodstock Museum. Wingman loved doing the garden and digging the weeds.  Me-not so much.  What I do like is the fig tree in my garden that actually bears fruit.  And when I wanted to channel my inner Martha Stewart, I picked berries for homemade raspberry preserves.  Who could ask for more?

With moving, there was no time to rent a cottage on the Isle of Wight, or even Staten Island, but every weekend I walked a couple of blocks to my own little beach on the river.  I scrimped and saved and went to THREE weddings in ONE weekend-I challenge any of my younger friends to come close to that. I'm still working on being a cool Memom ( bribes of candy help) for the three grandchildren at my knee-a girl and two boys like in the song. Dave is even one of their middle names. Fingers crossed, the fourth should be here at Christmas.

And I'll continue to express my point of view in my own warped musical way with my blog. While no one fills the shoes on mine forever more, I plan to spend my last week of adulthood checking off more boxes, drinking good wine, and singing a new song: “Forever Young.”