In eight days, I turn sixty-four with the big sixty-five looming next year. Ordinarily, my birthdays go by without much thought.
When I turned fifty, I was at the National Square Dance Convention in Oklahoma City, OK and we turned a promotional After Party into a birthday party for me. It was the biggest party I’ve ever had. Jerry Junck and Mike Hogan, two caller friends, sang me “Happy Birthday” and serenaded me with a George Strait tune.
Mom wanted to do my 60th birthday up royal, but she died three months before, so it was a quiet observance in Branson, CO with family and friends.
As I face sixty-four and beyond, I wonder what my stacked up years mean–six decades. The world has changed drastically since 1953. From black and white TV to color–I remember the first time I saw a color TV with the brilliant peacock spreading her tail and a pan of the valley introducing “Big Valley.” Now I can hold an iPad in my hands and watch any TV show I want.
My first airplane flight at twenty was a champagne flight to San Diego. I felt like a queen and dressed up. A couple weeks ago, I flew to Virginia and wore capris and a t-shirt and was not served champagne.
Yet today, I feel so young. I dance 3-4 times a week and keep a busy schedule. I’m still active in retirement–actually busier than ever. I look in the mirror and scan my face. I don’t see any signs of aging–my colored red hair hides the scattered white and gray hairs that abound.
When my parents were in their sixties, they seemed so old, but that’s not me–not yet anyway!