Tomorrow is my birthday… number sixty-four. I'm trying to be upbeat about it. I have wonderful friends who are wishing me all the great stuff we wish for each other on these occasions. There is a good roof overhead, food for the table, the bills get paid, my brain - though stuttering a bit - seems to be functioning adequately. But I can't quite get Whoop-de-doo over it.
Maybe there have been enough of these annual milestones that they've become ho-hummy? Or perhaps I'm caught between being thrilled to have lasted another year despite the engulfing decrepitude and… depressed about lasting another year with the engulfing decrepitude? In teenhood the prospect of getting old and wearing out doesn't encroach on awareness. Once past fifty it is hard to ignore. There are moments when the miracle of life still catches me… a sunrise, a smile, birdsong, and laughter catch me up and sing in my heart. There are as many when political unrest, human tragedy, mean spirits, and loss of all kinds sink my heart. I feel like a yo-yo.
Perhaps our basic natures as people don't change over a lifetime. Up and down, down and up. I've ridden this hot-air balloon all along. I'll pen today humming that tune from "Harold & Maude"… and The Big Boss of Bloomfield -> When you're UP you're UP! And when you're DOWN you're DOWN! Halfway would be boring.