Today is a day I never seriously considered “happening” to me. I’m 60. Sixty. Years. Old. 21,915 days…we won’t count seconds. I don’t want to admit out loud to being 60. It sounds offensive. Six decades! I think I prefer three score. My age is a mere three score.
Just yesterday, I was in a whole different decade. I also had a halo. Well, it was gray roots. Very pronounced gray roots. My friend, Miss Clairol, helped me get back to normal. Erm…Normal, not natural.
In my younger days when I heard something like, “So-and-so died. She was only in her sixties,” I would think to myself, “She had a good, long life.” Funny how time changes one’s way judging. In my heart, I relate to being 40, but that’s my daughter’s age. I’ll have to relate to her being 24. Is it denial? Maybe a mental coping mechanism? I’m officially old. Grateful, but old. My inside age will remain 40 until further notice.
I remember my 40th birthday like it was a few years ago. It sounded old at the time. My sisters sent me a tombstone cake and black balloons to work, announcing my closely guarded secret to my all-male co-workers. Men are occasionally more likely to rib us ladies about our age. We women are sometimes kinder to each other. Sometimes not.
:::Sideways glance at that person who has been known to start our conversations with, “Hey, Old Woman!”:::: She knows who she is.
Just yesterday morning, right after saying “Happy Birthday Eve!” Ole Boy looked at me and said, “60?! Really?? 60??!!”
Yeah. 60.
I mean three score!
And next week, I will be embarking upon an unexpected event: Early retirement. At this moment, I am not sure which direction I will go. Finally complete my novel? Write a devotional? Improve my doodles until I can say its art? Write in my blog more?
I don’t know.
I’ll think about that tomorrow, when I am three score and one day.