40 at 40

Friends, or friend as it may be....I'm turning 40 in a year.  I'm an August birthday and count the whole month as my personal birthday.  This day then is the beginning of my new year.  I'd like to have 40 things I'd like to do or experience by the time I turn 40.  This is the beginning of the list.

1. Fly---I'd like to paraglide.
2. Paddle board...I want to learn how.
3. Walk in a 5k.
4. Learn to ride the waves.
5. Travel to a distant land.
6. Have a really good meal out.
7. Open the palate of my mind.
8. Visit Palm Springs
9. Salsa dance
10. Write more.
11. Eat less meat.
12. Actually use the reusable bags for groceries.
13. Learn to recycle.
14. Have my credit card be 0 balance
15. Do more massage and acupuncture
16. Sail
17. Take a class
18. Visit the Art Museum
19. Ride my bike
20. Enjoy more happy hours with friends.
21. 
    

Friends

I've just started a new job, and have come home from the first couple of days with plenty of time to spare. I've just made the connection that I have time to write. I'm excited.

Stage

The lights were so bright on stage that I grasped the mic and reached out to feel tangible and in my body. I sang my song yet again, but this time did not click into auto pilot but felt my body and soul swell and release with the music. My show was so well practiced that rarely did art and soul combine. I often contemplated daily necessities such as my shopping list or my daily walk and snapped back to reality when the music stopped and the applause began. Bravo! Bravos, they would shout as I had chose braised chicken over seared tuna in my musings.

So tonight was a rare treat. The familiar strains of music began with a flash of the conductors baton and I stepped onto the blinding stage and high healed it to the mic. Grasping reaching and releasing my soul to the top of the curtain. There it floated and swooped with visions of swirls and colors encircling me as I sang. The Italian song built to a mighty crescendo and then became tender and gentle before the finish. My upper lip was damp after that first song and I knew that tonight would be one of those performances that fueled me. One of those performances where I knew I was truly an artist and not a girl on stage for hire.

Aunt Anna

We sat out on the breeze way, summer wind teasing our hair. Little girls posing as fancy ladies. You served us on your fine china and had us dab the corners of our mouths with linen napkins. You stifled my giggles and little girl song with a strong look, but your hand rested lovingly on my sun warmed hair.

Thank you for letting us jump rope for hours on end. Thank you for teaching us to be ladies.

Birth

I went almost apoplectic that day.

It began with gifted tickets to a white sox game. My friends and their almost grown son and myself. Large major league beers were consumed by those of age and sun burns were had by all. We went to Amy's mother's house after the game for a much needed pit stop. While the other adults were chatting at the table, Johno and I ran to the back yard which housed a very old trampoline. It's frame was rusted and the canvas had a well worn hole in it. Johno, a rather large 13 year old, and I took turns bouncing as high as the sky. It was glorious.

My competitive streak got the best of me when Johno pulled off a forward flip. I know that if I bounced high enough I could do something more special and even more spectacular. Arms pumping and legs springing I drunkenly contemplated feeling as air born as a bird when the trampoline did not catch and release me, but let me plummet to the rich black hubris underneath. I somehow in my jumping glee had not avoided the well worn hole and had widened it to the size of my ass. I went right through-it was a birth like experience, and then crawled through the black dirt to roll on the ground with howls of laughter.