walking bravely into thirty-seven

At first glance, I think
It's not that different, really, than all the years before it
The same growing realization of time: how swiftly it goes by, how little we hold in our hands
for its passage.
The same worries, the same stresses, the same bright accents of joy.
Alice reminds me to sing Happy Birthday, tells me as she hands me a present--
an empty box wrapped in a dishtowel.
Her face is the bow: pink lips and white teeth.
Last year it was vanilla cupcakes, cream cheese frosting, rainbow sprinkles.
This year we're still deciding. There is talk of mixing it up--- chocolate.

These first few steps like a worn path, familiar.
And yet not. As I look around the landscape is different, the other side of thirty-seven.
The rolling hill toward forty.
I'm not afraid of growing old.
But it's shocking, how the gray hair creeps in - how little I'm prepared for it.
New wrinkles around my eyes that weren't there yesterday.
I want to welcome thirty-seven with open arms, but I'm standing quietly to the side
Arms crossed
Reserving judgment.

But I can tell you
The candles burn just as bright--
Vanilla or chocolate,
Cupcake or pie,
Seventeen or thirty-seven.

Smiling faces by firelight,
I'll take them at any age.





I've been dreaming of new music, or new music to me.
To that end I have a birthday wish. It's something of a big request.
(But perhaps a few of you are up to the task.)
Want to know what it is?
Who's feeling up to making me a cd mix? A soundtrack for thirty-seven, pretty please?
And this: a picture of you - eating a celebratory dessert.
Email me: whimsyattack AT gmail DOT com

I believe it's perfectly acceptable for one to be cheeky and demanding on her birthday. What do you think?

Happy weekend, all.