Aging Gracelessly

Time passes and here we are.

Or, rather, here I are, approaching my 54th birthday.

I would say that I'm middle-aged but, if that's true, then I have to live to be 108.

I don't know what to say about it. I don't feel 54. Why is that, do you suppose? We feel eight when we're eight, and sixteen when we're sixteen, but after about 28 we stop feeling our age. At least, I did. A cultural thing? Or, maybe organic. Whatever, it worked for me.

I keep thinking I can put on a shirt, short skirt with tights, brush back my hair and go. But, glancing in the mirror I see there's more and more, with each passing year, that needs to be done. A little makeup to cover the wrinkles, a little lipstick to moisten those dried lips. The skirt's too short and my baggy knees show. Pants would be better, not to mention more comfortable. And, the hair...well, the hair.

I feel myself becoming one of the "disenfranchised." A floater. This, in spite of the fact that I am at my peak of brilliance. I could intellectually wrangle with the best of them. But, for what? So, I can shake down that seventeen year old cashier at the grocery store?! The one who doesn't know the difference between an avocado and a kiwi?!!!

The Man is taking me south tomorrow, not specifically for my birthday, although it does coincide.

We're going to Sapri, south of Napoli, an untouristy town on the Bay of Policastro. We've gone several times before, always to the same hotel. Our room has a terrace that overlooks a small beach and the sea beyond. We'll be the only guests. That is what usually happens. The season doesn't start until May or June, so the hotel is hardly open yet, still half asleep.

While there I will acknowledge my birth anniversary.

I will give thanks to my parents who raised me and tried to keep me in line.

I will give thanks to The Man who praised me and taught me there's a big world outside the line.

Then, I'll probably buy some shoes.