At 8 a.m., I dug a splinter out of the bottom of my left foot. By 4 p.m., the garden was weeded and pruned, the garage was swept, the birdbath was algae-free, the porch plants were watered and the porch was swept, the bathroom rugs were washed, the wireless network was set up, the Jeep was clean (inside and out), my legs were shaved, and the checkbook was balanced.
Clearly the excitement of seeing the bottom of my foot for the first time in 7 weeks started an adrenaline-fueled chain reaction.
Now I’m sitting on the deck with an ice pack on my knee, but it’s worth every minute of today. Plus, it gives me time to think about the close of my 46th year – a year of physical pain, yet perseverance. Still, I won’t be sorry to see the screen door hit its ass on its way out.
I turn 47 on Saturday. I’ll be “camping” (in a cabin) in Cook Forest with my family (including the g-babies!), and my birthday cake will be a s’more. Not sure where we’ll put the candle, but I can’t think of a better way to start my next prime number birthday.
Either by coincidence or the mystery of mathematics, prime number ages have been the most complicatingly life-changing.
19: My daughter was born and my husband died.
23: I divorced a big mistake.
29: My “cougar” year. Although can you really be a cougar at 29? Junior cougar, maybe? Cougar-in-training, perhaps? Whatever, it was a fun year.
41: I started thinking seriously about losing weight. Journaled. Tough but necessary work.
43: 2006. The year of the wedding. Before the deck, before the grandbabies, before goal – things that made me super happy from 44-46 – 43 ranks as one of the best years of my life. By my 43rd birthday, I’d lost 130 pounds and was exercising, my daughter was marrying a great guy, and I was on the path to figuring out who I am.
47: It will be a good year. I can feel it. Even if my knee is swollen like a grapefruit and cowering under a bag of frozen peas.
As my birthday gift to you, I am giving away my copy of “Women, Food and God: An Unexpected Path To Almost Anything” by Geneen Roth. I mentioned it in my blog from a few weeks ago, “Wiggle Your Toes and Breathe.”
I was introduced to mindfulness practice four years ago (prime age 43!), so the book was a good reminder of why I practice. If you’re not familiar with the book, here’s a snippet of the review from Amazon.com: “If you suffer about your relationship with food – you eat too much or too little, think about what you will eat constantly or try not to think about it at all – you can be free. Just look down at your plate. The answers are there. Don’t run. Look. Because when we welcome what we most want to avoid, we contact the part of ourselves that is fresh and alive. We touch the life we truly want and evoke divinity itself.”
If you’d like to throw your name in the hat for this book, leave a comment or send me an email at firstname.lastname@example.org, especially if you use Firefox or Safari because it’s nearly impossible to leave a comment on my blog if you use those browsers for some technological reason that is way beyond my understanding. Don’t be afraid to send an email! I promise I won’t spam you. Pinky swear.
I’ll draw a winner next Monday (Aug. 16), when I’m officially my latest prime-number age.