Monday, January 26, 2015

The Youth of Old Age

I love January. Sweep away the Christmas sweets; break out the citrus and kale. Clear out the mess of tinsel and enjoy the bare tree for one last day. Back to the gym, back to feeling clean and spent instead of stuffed and indulged.

And there are two particular special days in this month: little Nora turned ten, enjoying the last bit of childhood before adolescence sneaks in and steals away her squeaky voice and chubby cheeks. And I turned fifty today. No regrets, remember? It's a day of joy. I am enjoying a privilege not given to all.

Victor Hugo called fifty "the youth of old age" and Randy and I kicked up our heels like kids in Mexico to celebrate last weekend. I sobbed as we drove away from the girls the first morning and I missed them more painfully than I had anticipated. But the sun was a balm and dancing in the town square and hiking in the hills worked their healing magic.

"I'm gonna live every day until I die" sang the rock star at the Todos Santos Music Fest and if that isn't the best idea ever, I don't know what is.

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