Coming in at 64 Like a Hot Mess

Sixty-four-year-olds might as well be dead.

That’s what I used to think - that is, until I became 64.

NO. I’m just getting started. I tell myself that quite often when the age thing starts to creep into view. However, there are days when it wins, but I try not to let this old-woman-at-the-grocery store-vision eat me alive. I can still beat the shit out of you and rise smiling.

We’ve been in our new home three weeks. If for no other reason than that, I am a winner. A youngster. A woman with more ahead of me than behind me. I have a dream home that has become a reality and a husband that loves me - most of the time, and then, I’m not sure why. I’m not easy. Most women are. I cling to the fact that I’m sitting in what I have dreamed about for so long, so there. I win.

So as I turn 64 - one year shy of the Medicare conundrum - I’ll use this year to make more of my dreams come true. When I get discouraged, I’ll simply look out my office window and see the multi-colored trees that line my landscape. And, I’ll say “Thanks.”