Happy Return

            My 87^th birthday was absolutely joyous, and I can’t figure out exactly why.  For one thing, I’d been looking forward to it, somehow feeling that being so old is impressive.  It's irrational, I know.  All it proves is that I’ve kept on breathing a given number of times.  But I even started claiming the age a few months early, times when I was playing the helpless-old-lady card -- “Maybe you could help me with this? – I’m afraid you’re dealing with someone who’s 87 years old.”  Works wonders!  I’m sometimes reminded of Anne Frank’s conviction that people are basically good at heart.

            On the way to class that morning I treated myself to an Egg McMuffin in the car.  Then a really fine study session; I’m starved for good conversation and it's the best I get all week.  Next a well-balanced politically correct lunch at the Senior Center where we got a book review of McCullough’s John Adams.  Arriving home, finally remembered to run the engine of the summer car for 20 minutes (I learned my lesson about that battery the hard way.) 

            One of the kids skyped, one phoned, and the third IM’d for a nice long session.  Then in the evening an old friend picked me up for a fancy expensive not-all-that-good dinner with a lot of very good catching-up chat.

And the young people at the next table turned out to be a group of bankers, lawyers, brokers and the like, who all read my real estate newspaper column.  So when the waiter brought the cupcake, they sang Happy Birthday.  I'm hoping Friend was impressed.         

Feeling extremely okay and enjoying being a year older in a way I don't remember ever happening before.