After a particularly gray, gloomy week here at the Acres, we’ve escaped, driving south toward sunshine and balmy temperatures. As if that weren’t enough, it’s Birthday Week!

We were off to a great start Friday evening with a Game Night Party to celebrate Samantha’s 8th and my 70th. We played the new Life Goals card game and learned the Clue card game. Both of us Birthday Girls won, and though the Pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey game was very competitive, the victory went to me.

If it’s noon, we’re driving through Chattanooga, a highway that makes me nervous. There’s something about runaway truck lanes that puts me on edge. If you’re reading this later in the afternoon, we’ve hopefully made it through Atlanta without too many stops and are cruising down the looong state of Georgia. We’ll stop tonight around sunset and spend the night in a campground. Goldie has been remodeled since our last outing and I believe we’ve got the layout just right for our needs.

I recently discovered an old (2005) book of poems by Judith Viorst, titled “I’m too young to be Seventy And other delusions”. She so perfectly put into words so much of what I’m feeling about this aging thing, and I’ll probably be sharing some of the poems with you this year. The title poem, “At Seventy”, starts like this

Instead of “old”

Let us consider

“older”

Or maybe “oldish”

Or something, anything

That isn’t always dressed in sensible shoes

And fading underwear.

Besides which, seventy isn’t old.

Ninety is old.

And though eighty is probably old,

We needn’t decide that

Until we get there.

I’m considering this trip a reset, a re-boot, a rejuvenation, a kick-off celebration of my long-ish life and overflowing blessings. I’ll be in touch, and we’ll see how that poem wraps up.

Peace