Rather than point fingers at those who might have contributed to this odd, yet strangely welcome, lovely day outdoors, I'll talk about something completely different.
Here in the land where the two favorite local sports aren't really about red birds or blue notes, taking an opportunity NOT to complain or argue might get more attention than falling in line with the locals.
I'm not about attention this year. And yet, strangely, I have just received more attention in the last two days than I had in my entire prior two years. Go figure.
The calendar marks time in its normal way, even when it seems to those of us who follow it that it surely must secretly have altered either scale or speed.
A non-landmark birthday is apparently worthy of being celebrated by anyone and everyone who has ever known me, in person or online.
The online thing is not really about knowing me at all, especially given my occasional online clumsiness. You see, I'm that troll who chimes in on Fakebook arguments where I shouldn't, sees what I've done, then goes back and quietly removes my contribution, leaving some on smarter devices scratching their heads while others seemingly argue with an invisible opponent.
I'm not really invisible, but that has always been my Super Hero Power of Choice: to be that micro fly on the wall. As long as I don't open my mouth and reveal my power pipes to even the deafest within earshot, that is.
So at this time of year, rather than succumb to Pink Floyd logic and deem myself nothing but "...shorter of breath and one day closer to death..." I'll simply say, I'm getting closer. I'm almost there. I can see the finish line.
And yet, I'm not. Many days, perhaps decades, remain in my allotted time. There are some nice discounts coming my way a year from now, and I'm ready for those. There are a whole bunch of really great financial incentives about three and six years from now, respectively. Legally, I'm not yet entitled.
It's one thing to say you're ready, or even that you can see the finish line and the parties. But there are a delightful multitude of people and events holding me here, keeping me from opting out to join my beloved parents and way too many others.
My husband is the most wonderful blessing in my life. We will have been married for nineteen years in a month and a half. I can honestly say we've done both the richer and the poorer pretty thoroughly in these nearly two decades, along with whatever else we said in those vows. We're still best friends, bonded in a way that glue manufacturers can merely envy.
Everyone that I count as either family or friends of the heart has also chimed in to shower me with love and bounty. Every single gesture, no matter how trivial, hits home in my heart.
They all know who they are, as I strive to reply in kind to their gifts.
I'm still not gainfully employed full time, but I'm gaining traction with the idea that I may not work for a boss ever again.
There's much work done, and much left to be done. But whenever it seems that I'm not making the progress that my inner German Frau would like to see me making in my life, I must allow my inner Tolerant Human Mutt to remind her of one important fact:
No matter what you say, I'm almost there.
I'm OK with that, and I'm the only one who has to be.
