just celebrated my half pole last week with a big, fat cookie.
a horse racetrack are painted poles that indicate what fraction of the race is
completed: eighth pole; quarter pole; half-pole. Hence, my half pole is my half birthday; I’m halfway around the life track
for that year. My husband and I decided to recognize small occasions to have
more to celebrate. It might have something to do with getting older.
year’s half pole resulted in reflections of changes I’ve made once I reached
middle age. Most were things I swore I’d never change, or do, or bother with. For
instance, I swore I’d never color my hair. A hairdresser in my past once told
me that my grey was a nice silvery color, which enhanced the dishwater (my word,
not hers) blonde I’d acquired in my thirties. Fine with me; I didn’t want to
spend the money on highlights anyway. Then, once when I was driving to Austin,
I glanced in the rear-view mirror to check the insane traffic than seems to
breed on Interstate 35. The sunlight was just right and I caught a glimpse of my
hair. Boy, was that hairdresser ever wrong! My hair was colorless, dull,
old-looking. Once I arrived in the Capital City, I dashed around looking for a
stylist to color my hair that instant. I found one. She did an excellent job.
That was six years ago and I haven’t once regretted that change.
Next, I swore I'd never stop wearing, what I called, my comfy, earthy clothes. Then, I spent a few days in Chicago. I was the only person on the street who looked like me: colorless, dull, and old-looking. Before I left the city, I bought my first pair of skinny jeans. I ditched my Danksos, which I'd worn for most of my teaching career and purchased a pair of sexy heels—red—patent-leather red. Overnight I went from a boring dresser to a fashionista. I loved it!
most recent change was to improve my diet. I’ve always eaten well and worked
out regularly, but regardless, as I got older I put on a few pounds. I told
myself, my diet couldn’t get any better. Horse poopy. I tweaked my diet by
cutting out beer and bagels. I lost nine pounds and have kept them off. How easy
not sure why I was so stubborn about making these changes. I’m much happier and
healthier now and I plan to stay that way. The moral of the story: it’s never
I’m working on my patience, or lack of. I think I inherited my impatient gene
from my dad—sweet man he was, but eat at a restaurant that had a wait?—never.
As he grew older, he became more impatient. Actually, I noticed this trait when
he stopped smoking—cold turkey. It got worse when he stopped drinking—also cold
turkey. Since I’ve never smoked and will never cut red wine from my diet, I
have no excuse for my growing impatience. But I do have a role model. Although
he’s in doggie heaven, I only have to think of my very calm, patient dog and am
reminded of my favorite bumper sticker. PLEASE GOD, MAKE ME THE TYPE OF PERSON
MY DOG THINKS I AM. Thanks, Lito. I hope I'm getting there.
Labels: #humor #style #fashionista #diet #middleage #birthdays #celebrations