It’s been a while since I have written but you must forgive me, spring is in the air and summer is close at hand.  I have more important things to do than reminisce about my kids, complain about teenage angst, or blather on about a bothersome Mother’s Day. 

Today at work I served lunch to ten wonderful women, all of who were more then twice my age.  They were at the point when for women the number no longer becomes an item of shame and instead becomes a proudly worn badge.  “I’m ninety-three and counting,” one women crowed and called for another cup of coffee.  “No decaf for me.”

They talked about a show they longed to see at one of the museums and said it was about the really interesting stuff. Not art but moonshine and said they should bring a jug.  They loved the coffee, the soup, the tea, the hall, the bread, the salad, they loved getting out, and they loved looking at art, they loved the gift shop and my jewelry.  They asked me how I got to be so cute and didn’t I just adore my family.  I said I did but their sheer and utter joy at just being alive made me wonder why we wait until we are almost dead to really start living.

At home, the grass was green, the hammock was in fine form and my family and I stayed up past bedtime just to enjoy each other’s company.  As I said, it’s spring and the weather’s fine.  I’m wearing thirty-six like a badge and trying to enjoy every minute of it.