Number Fifty-Nine


It was Tuesday, April 18, 1950, the opening day of Baseball Season when I came into the world at 7:20 in the morning. This could explain my rabid interest in the Detroit Tigers when I was a young girl. I knew all the players, how many kids they had, where they lived, (stalker?) their batting averages, the whole ball of wax.

When I was growing up the only time we went out to dinner was for our Birthday. We all looked forward to it with great anticipation. The place was always Bill Knapps. How I loved the Au Gratin Potatoes. So much so that I don’t really remember what I had with them. But that was then and this is now.

I married a man who always has made a big deal of my Birthday. There are lovely, well thought out presents, a lavish dinner at the restaurant of my choice, and always a small party with cake and ice cream and family. When we moved to Washington it turned into a present and dinner. I am not complaining, just stating the facts. Even though I was older every year I still looked forward to my Birthday.

The last few have really been grating on me. I am starting to show my age. Those lines on my arm are not sheet marks because they still are there later in the day. Age spots dot my face, arms and legs. I have the post menopausal paunch that I fight daily with crunches, and the list goes on and on…..

This Birthday is especially troubling for me. Number Fifty nine. Sounds like a train locomotive. Here comes old number fifty nine around the bend. Johnny Cash is singing “The Orange Blossom Special” in the background. “I ain’t seen the sunshine, since I don’t know when”. You get the picture.

In six months I could start to make withdrawals from my 401K, if there was any money left in it. What I am getting at is that I am starting to realize that I am old. Do not give me that “age is not a number it’s a state of mind” crap. Age is a number and it is going up. Fewer people know who I am talking about when I mention Glenn Miller, or Howdy Doody. It’s a little depressing.

Tonight we are going to the Portland City Grille for a nice dinner, no presents, at my request.

When I got up this morning my card was waiting for me by the coffee pot. On the front was a chubby Shar Pei with posable thumbs holding a pair of large pink granny panties. It read “At our age, thongs are not an option.”

Amen, Sister.

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