Only a woman who's about to turn 70 would make such a statement. Right? So, guess who hits the big seven-oh tomorrow? That would be me, but it'll be a young 70, you understand. Or so I tell myself as I look at the wrinkles and crepy skin in the mirror. Or the white hair peeking through the auburn--I'm due for another dye job obviously.
My Calvin used to tease me that I lied about my age for so long, I had no clue how old I was. This will be my first birthday without him. It's been a long five-weeks since his passing. Most of which I don't remember. I've found grief can put you into a strange fog.
Take handbags for example.
How was that for a change in topic? Stay with me now.
During the past month, I've ordered 3 handbags online. I must have. They showed up at my door every few days and as I opened each box, I've wondered at my sanity. Why would I order a gray purse for summer? Or a hand-painted bag when I already have 2 on the shelf of my closet. One painted with roses and the other with butterflies. This new one is turquoise with water lilies. And I scratch my head every time I look at it. But, ladies, the silver and black snakeskin handbag is the one that completely baffles me. What in God's name was I thinking? I don't even like snakes, what would make me think I'd like to carry one made of their skin? It is distinctive, though.
I refuse to blame it on old age. After all, 70 is the new 50. Watch me as I show you. Once I find all of me again. Next month I'll talk more about my books and what I'm working on. I plan to be back to writing in earnest by then. Right now, my creativity is all dried up. My muse is heart-broken. And my mojo has jo-joed right on out of here. I'll get it back, though. Women only get better with age. More determined. More feisty.
Every one, have a great Memorial Day weekend. If you're traveling, be safe.