49

I turn 49 this week.  49 reminds me of 3rd grade and learning multiplication facts. I had such a mental block on 7 times 7.  Mom would quiz me on “seven sevens” randomly-like when she’d be driving me to gymnastics, or handing me a snack.  While I was thinking about that memory,  I remembered being a really little kid and having a strong visual of age being a staircase.  All the people in the world were somewhere on the staircase.  It wasn’t crowded of course, because I was so little my vision of the world population didn’t go much past my family.  Each year, you took one step up and I was about to be on four.  I remember thinking how grown up I’d be when I got to the number 7 step.  I ran to the kitchen to ask my mom how old she was because I wanted to know her step number.  She told me and I tried to rattle off my staircase analogy and she shooed me off to play, because she was always too busy, cooking or cleaning.  Truth be told, my excessive imagination was always a bit much for her.  My dad would have listened and probably got out some paper and pencils so I could make a picture of it.  He delighted in my nonsense. I think I thought the staircase went to one hundred and ended in Heaven, because all things end in Heaven when you are three and raised Catholic.

Thinking about all that made me realize that turning 49 means I’m about to have lived “seven sevens” (to use one of mom’s expressions).  I wondered if I could look at my life in those seven stages and come up with fun little titles.  (I do this kind of shit all the time, ask James).  But losing major organs and fighting an infection that has knocked me to the ground distracted me from being my best creative self and I didn’t really come up with fun titles.  But I do think there is something to looking back like that and it’s kind of interesting especially since I took a memoir writing class recently and I’ve been playing around with writing bits about my life.  I can definitely see how each of my seven has  a quality of a story.

If I concentrated on 14-21, I could definitely write about what it was like to be coming of age in the eighties.  It would be fun to stroll down the memories–like listening to the album Thriller with my cousin Becky when we were at her son, Larry’s, tee-ball game.  And cruising Main Street in Alamosa with my cousin, Jackie, and listening to the radio up loud. And falling in love for the first time with that Abbey boy, Matt.  And learning how to cement friendships with women like I was taught at St. Scholastica.  And discovering that Pam was my sister for life.  And stepping away from the comfort of my mom’s kitchen and my dad’s protection when I left home for the first time.   Writing about 35-42 would be fun too.  It would be more introspective about being a single mom, and finding my groove in education, and surrounding myself with good friends, and coming to a place of absolute devotion to family, and really learning how to trust and accept love from a man.  Writing about this last seven years, mmmm, maybe not so fun.  This has been a period of challenges and tribulations, for sure.  But there are definite bright spots, James, teaching art, remembering my writing voice, traveling, making unexpected new and wonderful friends, watching Darian become a resilient, young woman, and of course, Charlie ;).  Really all seven sevens would be interesting to explore and reminisce over.  And I’m sure I’d have great fun coming up with themes and lessons learned and writing an epic saga.  Because, really, I am that big of a geek.

Birthdays do this to me.  They make me take stock and see where I’ve been over the last year and what comes next.  If I’ve learned anything though, it’s about taking life one day at a time, because you never really know what’s ahead.  It’s a good idea to enjoy what’s right here today.  That being said, I am expecting a giant surprise party for 50.  So all you planners out there, start working on it, because I want to celebrate BIG.