Most people still react with shock when I tell them my age or the fact that I have a 23 year old son. The shock seems genuine. I'd hate to think everyone was faking shock; that would be mean. I choose to believe them and as such, I feel it's safe to say the old gal is holding up fairly well (for her age).
I'm in the mood today, on this day of my birth, to explore my inner Buddha. I am hoping with a little meditation and really fast typing fingers, I can download the essence of my life, discovering the paramount purpose for my existence, delving into the vortex of my subconscious then emerging as an enlightened pilgrim on the footpath to one day be able to look myself in the mirror and say yes child, you have done well.
Or at a minimum, I'm hoping to answer the question of the ages as it pertains to my life. The question many of us are simply too afraid to ask. WTF?
Quick reminder before I proceed....
This blog is about "Waxing the Life Rhapsodic". Waxing, as in going on and on, increasing in intensity and Rhapsodic because my life is a case study in enthusiastically and passionately exceeding what are considered normal or approved bounds. So I shall endeavor to wax on.
The early years, youngest and only girl, three older brothers; I learned to fight tyranny and injustice with my wits. My mantra was, "if they can do it, so can I". This included things like running around outside with no shirt, jumping into the deep end of the pool, riding motorcycles, and playing sports. My brothers tolerated me but also loved to pin me down and beat on my chest with one crooked-knuckle until I would break and meet their insipid demands - UNCLE, okay UNCLE already.
Lesson Learned: Wait until you hear dad's car in the driveway and cue the crocodile tears - or in other words, brother dearest, I'd like to introduce you to your beating - who's your uncle now? That's right, I own you.
Real Lesson Learned: I'm smart, don't mess with me.
Skipping over all the middle school and high school bullshit years because it's all so whiny and predictable, except for that time my girlfriends and I were kicked out of school for having alcohol and porn in our Florida hotel room while on a band trip. It's true what they say about band camp, you know. Alcohol and Playgirl centerfolds was, by comparison, way down at the lowermost hash mark on the spectrum of contra ban that could be, and in fact was, smuggled onto those Greyhounds. I'm just sayin'.
Lesson Learned: There's very few things in life that alcohol, porn and possibly a Sara Lee pound cake can't cure.
Real Lesson Learned: I'm loyal - it wasn't even my room.
Enter the marriage and fertility years. The mantra in this phase could be described as "just keep doing it until you get it right". Going into all the gory details here would be a waste of good material as I am soaking in a deluge of blogs-in-progress with working titles such as:
1. My first marriage was a mulligan.
2. Death, taxes and child rearing.
3. Top ten reasons not to get married.
4. How to squeeze out a baby in two hours or less.
5. Okay, I'll marry you so our kids will be legit.
6. That one damn near killed me.
7. Affairs of the Smart
8. E. D. and the big O
9. Impervious but not impregnable.
10. I can bring home the bacon, why can't you be a man?
Lesson Learned: All this waxing is taking a toll on me, maybe that's why Buddha didn't type.
Real Lesson Learned: I'm still learning, haven't found the answers yet - give me a break, it's my birthday.