September 26 the very day
I ran away yesterday, by myself, almost by myself. I took a fat cat named Huey Newton with me, and as two chubby felines we drove to the county. Why?
Well I was in meltdown mode and my husband was nervous about work. I was all a twitter with the same old twits of why I am not more in some ways and less in others. Not more in career and not less in girth.
A constant if one was to sneak a peak into the pages journals past. And like a Dickensian sleuth view my foibles, real and imagined, from birthdays past and future. They would spin a similar tale.
I thought, ahhh the country, flannel shirts, jeans so big even baked potatoes and croissants can fit in. I wanted to celebrate that for now, for this very moment in the whirling of the planets, we have this sweet, old house. We are holding on with our teeth and gnawed finger nails, but we have the old farm with its age blasted barn and dusty deer strolling by at dawn, bats in my chimney flashing, birds like flying crayons still divring for fatty sunflower seeds and the acres that are mine. Mine and the bank.
I wanted to hear the geese honk and announce it was time to head south. I craved hearing them tell that time has passed, a sort of aural birthday greeting. I needed the visual cue of shadows slating long across tall grass gone to diaphanous pink seed. These would announce the coming of my birthday better than calendars, facebook or any other modern contrivance.
I wanted to see pumpkins lined up next to obsolete wooden wagons and piles of spotty tomatoes in baskets. I wanted to be in a place where women still stopped because the sign read “Canning Tomatoes”. I like the log-like quality of the final silky corn rolled next to the first acorn squash. I wanted a seasonal announcement that also made me believe that changes and the flip of the year is not hard; it is natural. The summer flowers whither and the fall flourishes filling the landscape with vibrant colored trees.
That can be me. I just need to kick my phloem and xylem into high gear and get my leaves on. Aubergine, crimson, chartreuse, safety cone orange and yellow. The trees in autumn are a riot. This is my first 59th birthday and tonight I am going to drink champagne, squeeze my daughter and fairy-god-daughter, love my husband and holler through the phone lines at my big son. I will eat cake and dance with friends in my funky loft downtown and see what age has brought me as a gift.