Three score and…. That’s it. Three score. I am old enough that Lincoln’s Gettysburg address rings true minus a score and seven years… Agh! How did I get here and whose hands are those?!
My mirror is still kind to me, but the camera is not – why? The lighting, perhaps? I look down and see my mother’s hands and my grandmother’s feet – alabaster white with blue veins – agh!
But, here’s the coolest thing. All day long, birthday calls flowed in and I got to bathe in loving kindnesses and wishes for a happy, loving, prosperous, healthy new year. I ACCEPT! Amazingly, almost all of my callers sung to me…. HUGE GRIN. This is due in part to the fact that I speak fluent Duck and I faithfully call every friend of mine and sing them happy birthday in Donalda Duck voice… a small achievement, you might say, but my earliest friends say their birthday is not real until they receive that call….
Speaking of friends, tomorrow I will be in Palm Springs celebrating our 60th birthdays with two of my oldest friends, one from when I was 10 and the other from somewhere between 12-15, which is curious – I can see us walking on streets where I lived at 12, but my true memory says we met later, more like 14…. She will tell me because Anna will remember. I am the one famous for a photographic memory back in the old days – lost it around 28 when my Dad died. I am convinced a ton of emotion broke forth at that point and the storage capacity vaporized. It was a shock to have to write things down…
This is exciting for me to meet with my oldest friends ~ except for Virginia Maria Morgan, whom I’ve know since I was four-and-one-half years old. We lost touch back in the ’80s and I’ve searched off and on for her for decades. Sadly, no luck so far.
These two, Charlotte and Anna. They are very dear to me and have been written about in these pages. Long, long ago, my therapist asked me what I thought my life would be like at 60 (I was mid-twenties).
“Oh, that’s easy!” I said with enthusiasm.
My therapist, Jeanette, blinked. “Really? Tell me!”
“Well, I have a small house and a garden surrounded by a white picket fence. I am gardening. I’ve gloves and a sunhat. (unheard of for a Californian in the 80’s) A man walks up to the gate and says, “Excuse me, Ms. HuntMode?”
I rock back on my heels and peer up at him. “What can I do for you?”
“Mamn, I’m here to interview you about The Group. How you and your friends all became so famous and what it was like in the early years.” He grips his notebook as though it might slip away.
I stretch and get to my feet, nodding. “That’s right. Why don’t you come in. We’ll sit on the porch with some lemonade and I’ll tell you about us. One of us was a ballerina, another an actress and then there was me, a writer…”
And those are the ladies I am going to meet up with tomorrow. One of the bestest things is that Anna and I will be flying out on the same flight. I gave her the aisle seat – she is, after all, 5’8 to my 5’2.5 and she and Char paid for the tickets! How cool is that?!