Today, I turned a year older.
I know, everyday I’m a day older, but today feels more dramatic. Funny, when you’re a little kid, how exciting a birthday can be. You can’t wait for the day, and all your friends wish it were their birthday too.
I woke up to another rainy day – rainy days are always blue for me anyway. And I’m not excited to be 8, I’m 68. This sad lady captured my feelings this morning.
Hopefully, I’ll be complaining when I’m 98, but it is a step closer to the grave and I’ve oh so much to do and accomplish yet. My list of to do’s is enormous. Instead of rushing out of bed to get to it, I just wallowed there and reminded myself I’m a year older. Still overweight, probably never going to be slim and young again. My husband always laughs when I say that – says he can guarantee I’ll never be any younger. (If you’re married, you probably recognize this technique for getting extra hugs and kisses. Still works.)
Went to my own funeral.
I think a little of it is we lost someone in the family this year. My husband’s sister was also named Janet (as is one of his aunts). So I sat and heard the funeral of Janet Biery last month. I know we are all on this earth by the Grace of God. But it made me want to make better use of my time. To diet, exercise, write more books, do more to help others, and clear out my house. (We are coping with clearing out her things in a different state – another trip this month. I certainly don’t want my children to have to do that for me).
But I didn’t hop out of bed, I didn’t go to the Y to swim, I didn’t write more on my book. I just moped. Then I ate the last of my chocolate cake, with a scoop of raspberry ice cream. My daughter came home and baked it on her day off, which made it a super cake.
The storm outside is passing.
My big sister called and we’re going to our high school class reunions together this weekend. Mine is the big fiftieth and my first reunion. She has gone a couple of times before and really wants to go this year.
I think I may have milked this gloomy day as much as I can. I’ve been idle too long, getting at the writing. Blog out of the way, it’s back to my new novel Wild Violets. Going to give my little schoolmarm a heck of a first day as the new teacher in a one room school in 1850’s Appalachia.
As my Granny always said, “Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop.”