50.
Me - at one.
I turn 50 today. 2:34 p.m. to be precise. Where the time has gone I do not know. Two poems which I am familiar with were brought to my attention this past week. How appropriate - my favorite poet and the week of my birthday. One was written on a birthday card from my friend, Renee:
"Memories" by Walt Whitman
How sweet the silent backward tracings!
The wanderings as in dreams—the meditation of old times re-
sumed—their loves, joys, persons, voyages.
How sweet the silent backward tracings!
The wanderings as in dreams—the meditation of old times re-
sumed—their loves, joys, persons, voyages.
The other is an excerpt from Whitman's "Song of Myself":
“Not I, nor anyone else can travel that road for you.
You must travel it by yourself.
It is not far. It is within reach.
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not know.
Perhaps it is everywhere - on water and land.”
You must travel it by yourself.
It is not far. It is within reach.
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not know.
Perhaps it is everywhere - on water and land.”
I will not dwell on the things that could have been but smile at what has been a happy, largely fulfilling life thus far. I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Me at 6.
Me at 17.
Me - early 20's.
Me - early 30's.
Me - late 30's, early 40's
A few weeks before - you know...50, ok?!
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