Yesterday I turned sixty-three. It occurs to me that I’ve had a very interesting life so far, and that it looks like going on being interesting, and not in the “may you live in interesting times” way. I’ve been able to follow my heart and my Muse for quite a large chunk of my adult life, sometimes even earning my living. I figured out once that I’ve probably lived on my art for about eighteen years of my life, which is not too shabby on balance.
I’ve lived for the last twenty-five years in a place I really love. I’ve been warm, fed and sheltered, and I’ve had a good husband and good friends. I get along with most of my family most of the time, which is probably also normal. I’ve had beloved dogs and cats and other animals. I’m literate, which is a great pleasure. Every time I write one of my little humour articles for the Sault Star, I hear from someone that they enjoyed it, and that is also a great pleasure. I like to make people laugh, and it seems I can do it.
My health is reasonably good, and I’ve still got most of my marbles. There is more art to do than time to do it, which is the way I like it. I have a job that pays my bills, and while it’s not the job I would like best to do in this world, it’s far from the worst one I’ve held. I like a lot of the people I work with. One of the overnight supervisors (looking at you, Jeff!) sang “Happy Birthday” to me in a training meeting, and that has never happened anywhere else I’ve worked.
Now I’m going to go home and make meat pies for dinner, and probably banana bread, because there are a couple of bananas lurking in past-their-prime condition, and then work on a new animation and maybe another poem. Just because I can.
I don’t want to be “twenty-nine-and-holding” – I’m happy to be a crone and kind of a grandmother to some of the people I know. This is where I should be – an older, kick-ass sort of broad who makes good lasagna and writes good stories, and is always interested in learning something new. Best birthday ever. Until the next one.