Friday, February 17, 2012

...and holding

The passing of another year in one's life is met with a variety of feelings and reactions, often largely dependent on what particular year it happens to be.  Well, this particular year happened to be the big one for me.

No, not that big one.  That's next year.  But as I can't promise I won't be under 24-hour psychiatric care by then...

Now if you think I'm going to sit here and ramble on about getting old or the blinding speed of the passing of time, and that I'm gonna be all pensive and self-wallowing, well then, I must say, you know me quite well.  Frighteningly well, as a matter of fact.  It's actually making me a bit uncomfortable.  Stop it.

Thirty-nine arrived this past weekend.  And I turned and ran like a little girl. I'm so not ready for this.

When I think of thirty-nine, I think of a guy with a beer belly who's out of shape and helps coach his kid's little league team, but really has no clue what he's doing, and besides, his kid isn't even interested in baseball and would rather be in band but he continues forcing him into sports.  No one in particular, just a general guy.

It just sounds so... grown-up.  So... not me.  And yet, it is me.  There's nothing I can do about it.  I mean, if Ponce de Leon couldn't find the Fountain of Youth, what chance do I have?  Although with GPS technology being what it is these days... Hmm.

Anyway, I celebrated -- or more aptly, commemorated -- the occasion by having dinner in Nashville on Saturday night with friends.  We ate at a Mexican restaurant called Tito's.  Then I closed out the evening by singing their baby girl to sleep.  My friends', not the restaurant owners'.

Sunday was spent with family, a blessing I treasure more and more as the years continue to pass.  It nearly freaks me out every time we're out to eat and Mom orders off the senior menu.  My Mom!?  In my mind, she should still be forty.

How did this happen?  Where did my thirties go?  For that matter, where did my twenties go?  And are they now in the same place comparing notes and saying things to each other like, "Really?  He did the exact same thing when he was with me."

I know all the platitudes.  Life begins at, er, after thirty-nine.  Thirty-nine is the new twenty-nine, or whatever.   But I, for one, happened to like the old twenty-nine just fine.  In fact, I've made a unilateral decision:  I will not be having any more birthdays.

Allow me to clarify.  I'll still be accepting presents, I'll just no longer be counting years.

And heaven help the person who dares put an ad in the paper next year with a photo of Baby Bone that says "Lordy Lordy, Bone is..."  Well, you know.

Anyway, I thank you for allowing me to freak out a bit as I prepare to approach that age which shall forever remain unspoken.  Thus begins my attempt to ward off a crisis of the mid-life variety which, by some acounts, may have already begun.  That should make for some fun blog posts in the coming year, wouldn't you say?

I figure at best, I'll continue to age gracefully and achieve my goal of being the youngest 39-year-old you know.  At worst, I'll go kicking and screaming every step of the way, torturing myself daily with the question of what have I done with my life, and maybe wind up with my own Scott-Baio-Is-45-&-Single-esque reality show.  Or at least, some good meds. 

Either way, I realize that someday we'll look back on this -- yes, even this -- with wistful heart and older eyes.

"She said, you're pretty good with words, but words won't save your life.  And they didn't, so he died..."


  1. Well happy birthday for about the 20th time--gave you a twitter and FB birthday. About time for a blog one

    The senior menu? We don't have them but I imagine many women of all ages would if they could--less food, cheaper

    If you're a vain and shallow person you look back and say "I thought 40 was old? 40?" Not saying I know about vain and shallow. Oh yes I am!

  2. So you had a birthday dinner at a Mexican restaurant named after a Japanese general?

    Really, 39, just like Reagan. He kept having saying he was celebrating his 39th birthday again, and that was before his memory began to fade.

    Anyway, happy birthday, Bone. The big one is 50, when you get invited to AARP and the doctor wants to shove what appears to be a garden hose where the sun don't shine...

  3. What's the male equivalent of a cougar?

  4. A senior menu? I don't think we have those here. How are they different? At what age can you start ordering from them?

    And also, happy birthday! May 39 be wonderful. You can always start counting backwards for future birthdays: 38 next year?

  5. I thought only girls denied getting older.

    Older guys are hot. You should have no worries!!

  6. Pia - Thanks. You definitely get the record for wishing me a happy birthday the most number of different ways.

    Perhaps I will say that. I was never one of those people who said "I thought thirty was old" though. Because I didn't.

    Sage - Or, a member of the Jackson 5, which was what I was thinking/hoping.

    Thank you. And thanks for the garden hose line. Of course, I laugh now. Cringe later.

    Ed - I do not see how that is relevant here! :)

    J. Adamthwaite - It's usually slightly smaller portions and/or a discounted price. I think the age varies. I would say most often 55 or 60.

    Thank you! I like that idea. I could probably even pull it off for at least five years.

    Carnealian - Now there's a proper comment! :-D

  7. Happy Belated Birthday! Remember, age is just a number. This is what I keep telling myself as I remember that two months ago I celebrated the big "FIVE-OH". *gulp* That's half a century...half a century! (and my eyes just caught Sage's post about 50 where I saw the words AARP and "shove a garden hose")...enjoy 39, Bone! You're still just a wee babe. :)

    P.S. I'm so impressed you named a specific lily on my blog post...I only know them as "lilies". You know your flowers! *impressed*

  8. Happy birthday!!! :-)

    Forty isn't so bad, but don't dwell on it - enjoy your 39th year!

  9. Oh god, don't get me started. I'm not far behind, Bone, not far behind. I'll be 37 next month (you can bet your butt I'll have a post about it, believe me). 39, at least, is a mere precursor to 40. It's just THERE, waiting to turn over, like the panels in an old alarm clock. But even LOOKS wrong. Look at it: that young, curvaceous 3, next to that jarring, pointy 7. Yuck. I will say, though, I'm thrilled my 20s are over. As I like to say, I spent 10 years trying to get away from them. Will I think the same way about my 20s when I'm in my 40s, though? WIll I miss them? I don't know. My 30s aren't so bad. I bet your 40s will be a blast! I'll agree about the mom thing. Mine will be 70 in August. SEVENTY!!! I can't even believe it.

  10. I stopped celebrating your birthday last year. So, there.

  11. You big softie. I don't mean in your belly. I mean in your heart.

    I get your freak-out, but, as someone writing to you from the future (age 44 here), I can assure you it only gets better. All along in life, I've had a blast. All along in life, I've been able to look back and think, "Yea, wouldn't do that again." It continues, you know. I'm currently having more fun than at any age previous--I'm running long and hard; loving this sweet spot with my kids; sleeping crazy well; feeling like I won the lottery with my job; trying new things; looking forward to more adventures; and ending each day with wine and a book.

    Coast on in. You'll enjoy it.

  12. Sherri - Thank you! And don't be that impressed. I once mistook Black-eyed Susans for sunflowers :)

    Cindy - Thank you. And that's good advice. There'll be plenty of time to dwell on 40 when I'm, well, 40.

    Sean P - Thanks. Yeah, I see what you mean. 36 is so nice and... divisible.

    Cami Smith - I like it. You were a year ahead, but that's OK.

    Jocelyn - Oh, I'm afraid it's the belly, too :0)

    I rather enjoy these messages from the future. Please continue. And coasting sounds right up my alley.