As Time Goes By

I am about to stumble gracelessly across the threshold from middle age into the Senior Years. I shall write one last post before my fingers turn arthritic and my brain shrivels into a walnut shell. Say what you will about sixty being the new forty; my mind and body know better. This will be a snapshot of me at the cusp of elderhood.

Incongruously, last week a thirty-something friend told me that he thinks I’m “a stone fox.” According to The Urban Dictionary, that means, One who is so awesome that not only are they foxy, they are also solid. The most perfect compliment for any lady you gentlemen have your eye on. Go figure.

Speaking of which, a strange thing happened today—something I haven’t experienced since I was in my twenties. I was walking down Solano Avenue on this hot day, wearing a skimpy little summer dress, when I was stopped by a handsome middle-aged man, I’m guessing fifteen years younger than I. He wanted, he said, to know if there were a Wells Fargo nearby. I enlightened him and turned to walk on, but he kept chatting, about everything from yoga to the quality of life in this part of Berkeley (he’s thinking of moving here from his current place in Marin) to the joys of traveling in Southeast Asia. After a few minutes he appeared to get an idea. Do you have time for a cup of coffee? I nearly fell over. I allowed as how I was very busy, which I am not. We talked a little more and finally he asked if maybe I’d go for coffee another day. You’re not married, are you? If I were a good liar I would have said yes and been outta there, but I suck at making things up. To my surprise, I heard myself giving him my phone number. But that’s okay. I don’t have to answer calls from Mill Valley. Or should I?

First, I’d like to show you a few pictures of Ember over the past few months.

Helping Mama Ginna clean (a freakishly rare occurrence):

DSC02051

One of our frequent tea parties:

emmy-tea-party

Sporting our Ginna-made sweaters:

e+g

And here’s my latest knitted creation:

sweater

More excitingly, Eleni, Jason, Emmy, Molly, Ali and I just got back from a wonderful visit with my fun and healthy-looking 85-year-old mother. I may have inherited one or two of her physical genes, but we are as if unrelated when it comes to matters of organization.  Six months ago I made the plane reservations. Starting at that very moment, Mom began planning. I’m pretty sure it was back in November that we started having conversations like this:

Mom: I’m thinking that the night you arrive, I’ll just give you sandwiches.
Ginna: That sounds fine. We can work that stuff out later.
Mom: Where will Ali and Molly sleep?
Ginna: I don’t know. We can work that stuff out later.

The dozens of consultations we enjoyed over the months yielded detailed, minute-by-minute menu plans, elaborate bedding arrangements and varied activities. I marvel at her with equal measures of bemusement and amusement. She is an amazing hostess who spoiled us all.

4 comments

  1. Loved the blog–and especially the pictures. My doggie misses her little friend (relative?) as do I miss all of you. All that “organization” paid off, for me –as I had more time to spend with you, when all was under roof. Things are very empty and quiet here, these days. Hauury back!! Wuv, M

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