On Friday, I turned 60. It didn’t feel like much of a thing, but I wanted to commemorate it somehow. I have a lovely photo of my mother on HER 60th birthday, when I took her out to dinner with several of my friends when I still lived in Atlanta. We had a wonderful time and she enjoyed it immensely. My mother embraced every year she lived. She never shied from telling people her age; in fact, she was proud of it and in private scoffed at women who balked at revealing how long they had lived. I agree. Who cares? Why should women only be “a certain age?” It’s just another way to invalidate our power and our prowess. Men become “distinguished” and women become, what? There’s not even a word for it because so many of us are too busy trying to hide the fact that we’ve been here a while. But this isn’t a rant against the patriarchy, at least not much. It’s about me. I had a pretty good day, even though I had to work. I got lots of sweet messages on Facebook and a card in the mail from the friend who I figured if I got any “real” cards, it would be from her. Thanks, Ginny! 🙂
But the best part was, I got to pose for a photo with my mom. And this is me on my 60th with a photo of my mom on HER 60th. She would have loved to see this one through with me in physical form, but I know she’s having a celebration for me wherever she is.
Happy Birthday to ME!