Afternoon, friends. How are you this fine Wednesday? I am well, and, I think, officially middle aged. Is forty middle aged? Or does the saying, “Fifty is the new forty” mean I’ve got ten more years? Oh bother. I’m forty, four-zero, shaken-not-stirred, straight-no-chaser (a la Thelonious Monk), with new wrinkles to prove it! Seriously, I think the skin on my face lost a millimeter or two of elasticity in the last two weeks. And here I thought I was Ms. Fancy Pants!
As I am not a super celebratory kind of gal, we had a yard sale on the big day, which was, now that I think about it, a bit of a party. We chatted it up and had laughs with many neighbors, strangers, and friends. The hubster and I shared high-fives and danced a couple of jiggety-jigs after getting rid of quite an accumulation of stuff we no longer needed, also freeing a rather large portion of our basement from a cumbersome burden.
This included nearly our entire CD collection (we’ve gone digital!), which, at times, made me a little misty-melancholy, as someone put a rather fine selection into their purchase pile and my mind traveled to places we’d been together: driving in my 1981 Toyota Celica listening to Joy Division, chilling on the sofa to Miles Davis, singing at the top of my voice to the Doors and Rolling Stones. Ahh, nostalgia.
To to top it off, the peonies are blooming (hello Coral Charm!) and we partook of some Late Night Snack, the very yummy Jimmy Fallon flavor from Ben and Jerry’s. Salty and sweet, creamy and crunchy, it is a perfect flavor and texture combination. I expect nothing less from Mr. Fallon.
So, forty feels fine: older, wiser, sillier, more supple, yet obstinate, too. How are you?
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