Wishes

This has been an interesting week. I've had some good conversations with friends and family - some conversations that surprised me and some that were just so very good to have.

One of those conversations has me doing a lot of thinking. It was with a guy I've grown close to. Men look at things so differently.

My friend celebrated my birthday with me a little late because he was out of town on the actual day. He brought me lunch because I just didn't feel like being out and about (it's this freaking gray sky/trying to rain thing). The gift he gave me was very sweet and interesting - or at least my reaction to it was. Funny that I can still surprise myself.

There was a time not really too long ago that if someone I liked a lot gave me a certain kind of gift, I'd get all analytical about what it meant. (Why this gift? What does it mean? Is he trying to tell me something? How am I supposed to react?) I guess I've either finally grown up or just grown calmer. Whatever it is, I just took the gift as it was. It's just a gift and it's nice and very thoughtful, very me.

My friend was so pleased by my reaction that he shared a "guy thought" with me. He told me that I had apparently learned something that it had taken him longer to learn: relationships are only as complicated as we make them. Ours is not complicated. (Well, it is sometimes, but only when I make it that way.)

Like I said, I thought about our conversation long after it was over. I started to think about how I really have changed. I thought about things I wish I'd known a long time ago.

One thing I wish I had known is that sex is not complicated, but feelings are. Knowing that could have saved me so much heartache and worry and maybe one of my marriages.

I wish I'd known that age has nothing to do with death and dying. Not to make light of it, but any one of us can drop dead at any second - whether newborn, middle-aged or elderly.

I really wish I'd known that some things just don't matter one damn bit. Things like walking around for a couple of hours at work with a poppy seed stuck in your teeth or a booger hanging half out of your nose. And I don't mean that it doesn't matter in that whole "in a thousand years..." way. I mean that if people aren't gracious and empathetic (there's that word again) enough to not make it a big deal, then fuck them.

I wish I'd known to be kinder to people when I was younger. I wasn't always un-kind, but I had my flip, selfish, dismissive and cruel moments - sometimes toward strangers. We just don't know the effect we can have on another person.

I wish I'd realized how much I meant to certain people at certain times. (I once had a girlfriend get married. I was invited to her small, at-home wedding. I was late. She'd held up the ceremony for me to be there. I didn't know how wonderful a gesture that was. I probably took it too lightly.)

I used to lay across my mom's bed and have long talks with her. Sometimes the talks were about nothing and sometimes they were deep and important to one or both of us. I wish I'd told Mom more of my secrets. I told her a lot, but not everything.

There is one wish that I could possibly make come true. I wish I could go back to some of the people who are/were in my life and tell them some things. I'd like to apologize to some of those people, thank some of them, hug some of them. I probably won't ever do this, so does that make it not a real wish?

I am learning from my wishes. I am trying to do more now so that I don't have to wish for later on. (I refuse to use the word "regret" because that would mean we all should be born not quite human and full of mistakes. Mistakes are part of living and make our moving from moment to moment real and interesting. Hope that made sense.)

There are so many things that I'm glad for that I can live with all those "wishes." I'm so glad for the people I know and love. I'm glad for the relationships I got right. I'm glad for today. I'm really glad that I got to see this age of 51, even though when I was 21 and 31 and even 41, I didn't even want to imagine being 50-anything. I'm damn glad that, so far, my 50's are not half bad. Not really bad at all.

I am 51 and happy most times because when I look up at the sky I still think, "Wow." Hell, I'm glad I'm still here to think it.

I'm glad I still giggle, snicker, laugh too loud and flirt and crush and have girlfriends and like junk food and love music and dream dreams and have hopes and want things and fuck up and fuck around and go ga-ga over babies and cry about weddings and movies and want to do crazy things with my hair and sit in the sun and have deep conversations about stupid stuff and have places I still want to go and things I still want to do and see and taste and feel and know about.

I'm still so glad to be alive and I sure hope God is listening.

Peace
--Free

Measuring Joy

I was up really early on my birthday, just thinking, thinking and thinking - like I guess everyone does on birthdays, anniversaries and some holidays. Nora Ephron had just passed and I had gone and re-read some of her essays and other musings. I was touched by the advice she gave to younger women and kind of amused by (but in disagreement with) some of what she had to say about aging. Thinking of her and other women who lived uniquely, or fully, I got to wondering about what it means to live fully. What I came up with is, it's not about having a busy or fabulous career or family or adventures. It's about personal and individual pleasures and contentments. It's about joy, or at least, that's what I believe.

So then, what is joy, and how do you measure it your joy?

Can't measure it by the money you have. Money is too easy to lose. Money buys things that can deceive you: power but not respect, respect but not love, fear but hatred... It goes on and on. Money is only as good as the person who has it.

You can't measure joy by the number of friends you have. Friends are as flawed as you are. If friends were the complete foundation of an individual's joy, then there'd be no despair or grief or suicide of a person with friends. Friends are pieces of joy, not the finished puzzle.

Joy isn't what you look like, who you love or who loves you. It's not sex or food or good music or theater.

Maybe joy is that thing that is only indescribably sensed - not by sight or touch or sound or taste or smell. Maybe it is a sense itself, except real and whole, like God. It exists and always has. It seems to be without a known beginning, like creation itself, but given a beginning, like the first breath to an infant.

I have joy just as I have faith. They are, I think, very alike.

And... R.I.P. Nora Ephron

Peace
--Free

Older & Almost Wiser

I am getting all ready to celebrate this birthday of mine tomorrow & I have decided to be "okay" with it. LOL

My sis and I were playing around today with my clothes and makeup. She wants two things: for me to actually give a damn about what I'm wearing and to start wearing makeup. (You'd think it was her freaking birthday, huh?)

Anyway.

I have to agree with her about the clothes. It's just so dang hard to feel pretty and comfortable while I'm packing round these extra pounds. (Don't like going to the doc's, but I will be one happy black chick come this next appointment. Maybe I will actually be able to get off this Prednisone and onto something that won't have me looking like a chocolate Oompa Loompa.)

So, okay, I am going to embrace the larger me while I have to. I will NOT wear anymore drab colors, baggy tops and shapeless sweatpants. I will NOT try to hide this glorious extra me under anything that I wouldn't have worn when I was smaller. (Let's hope we can get this Prednisone alternative going on!)

Now, this thing about the makeup? Ummmm... I don't know about that one. I'm not good with makeup. One, I'm kinda lazy (as in it takes me about an extra 15 to 20 minutes of getting ready to be seen by anyone who gives a damn). Two, I'm kinda clumsy (as in I once just about put out my left eye with an eyeliner stick). Three, that crap gets all over everything you touch (as in I can't just scratch my face and then touch anything else without leaving fingerprints). How the hell do the real chi-chi chicks handle this stuff?

But I am going to try. I promised my sister. She says it will make me feel prettier and not as old. (By the way, as I've told her: I am not old. 51 is just a bit more seasoned than 25. Old is what you feel. I'm maybe... twenty-one? Hahaha!)

Here are the pre-makeup pics. When I get "makeup" pics tomorrow, I will try to get them posted:

The crazy hair is from that freaking Keratin crap!!!

I can't control the hair. Impossible. I gave up.
At least it's still growing back.

Do I look happy? I don't look happy, do I? Actually, I was pretty happy. I'm excited about lunch tomorrow. It's going to definitely be four of us physically there - me, sis, one of the nephews (if he doesn't get called in to work like everyone else) and one of the two local BFF's. Some are going to be at the family "home" dinner later on. The others are going to Skype in (if we can figure out how to pull it off in a restaurant) or phone in (at least for the song part) and, you know - all the love will be felt. Oh!! And did I mention that it's going to be at the Olive Garden? Yep. We finally got one up here. (I know that it's not in the Michelin Guide, you snobs, but I'm not that kinda gal. I'm more of a Guy Fieri type lady. You know, Guy of  "Diner's Drive-ins and Dives" fame? Yeah, I said it. )

I am a little bummed because one of my nieces "Cat" and her husband "Poka" -and those are just stage names, folks - came when they could take off from day jobs, stayed 10 days, and had to leave last Sunday. (At least they got to meet their godson, D.J.) To make it even a little sadder, Cat's birthday was on the 9th, just before she got here... Still, we are all blessed to be here at all. I have to remind myself what happened after my last birthday: having a margarita and strutting my stuff one moment and meeting all kinds of new doctors the next. Yeah. Living beats hell out of the alternative.

Exactly 1yr ago tomorrow. How the hell many pounds & doc visits ago was this?

Like I started this rambling post out with: I have decided to be okay with this getting older business (since I didn't get okay with it by 45, right?). Every time I want to be pissed at my marriage falling apart, this illness, the meds, the topsy-turvy life I'm now living, I stop and think about the folks who didn't wake up to see this day, and I just say, "Thank You, Jesus." I should be thanking Him as much as I complain about my weight. (Lucky He doesn't smack my ungrateful behind with a thunderbolt...)

By the way, BFF ("local B") is turning 40 just 5 days after tomorrow, so, yeah, life is okay enough. This birthday is going to be a good one. A good year, a good rest of my life, a good new beginning.

Happy freaking birthday to me (if the Lord let me live to tell). And if it's not your birthday tomorrow, celebrate anyway. 

Peace

--Free