BirthdayBirthdayBirthday!

More or less now with The Green Miles

Then

Now-ish with Helen

Yes, it’s my birthday and, frankly and truly, the number stuns me. How in Bast’s name did I get to be 57. 57 mon ami! Who the fuck’s that old!? Madonna, you say? Steve Buscemi? Prince? Ice T? Belinda Carlisle? Thurston Moore? Gary Oldman? Kate Bush? Kevin Bacon?

OK, ok, ok, I get it. I’m in good or, mebbe just odd, company. 1958 was an interesting year, I guess.

So, 57 and I continue to learn new things.

Rather late in the game, I’m negotiating car accident aftermath—insurance and all that dreary shite. I’m guessing that most folks of the auto owning persuasion go through this in their 20s or 30s maybe. Not only am I dealing with the confusing maze of insurance company crap, I’m doing it while deaf. I imagine other, pro-league, deafies—you know, deaf since birth or childhood versus the ripe middle age of 46—have this all sorted in young adulthood too.

Yeah, I’m back of the pack here but I AM learning!

In what other realms have I gained knowledge?

Not patience, that’s for damn sure, and I continue to struggle mightily with moderation in all things. If I had a tat (or ink as Michal kindly informed me) it would be this:

I was six once!

My sweetie Helen’s in town with the not-so-wee bairn. Madison will start fourth grade next month and Julianna’s entering second grade. Wow. After Helen got them tucked in last night, she and I hit our local lushery and, yes, indulged in the not-quite-but-it’s-a-near-thing forbidden and beloved Jamo. Yeah, we’ll be hitting Nantasket this morning a tad later than planned.

‘scuse me—gotta go pop some more ibuprofen and suit up for beach time with the grands.

You can't help getting older, but you don't have to get old.
~George Burns

When I grow up I want to be an old woman.
~Michelle Shocked