My mother is turning 70 this weekend.
I tried to take her to a play on her birthday but she told me she was already booked for a yoga class. A very special yoga class that is only held once a year, in case I was insulted. But she did squeeze me in for the night before so we are going to see, “Love, Loss and What I Wore.”
I hope Ryan Gosling is in it. He might not be.
What strikes me about 70 is that it doesn’t sound old. Not really. I don’t think my mother thinks so either because when George Bush Sr. was sick about a month ago and thought to be on the edge of death’s door my mom said, “So sad. He’s so young.”
George Bush is 88 years old.
Bush was the 41st president, the man who heralded a thousand points of light and the guy who vomited at a Japanese banquet. But young? Not so sure about that.
My older girls recently accused my mom of being old.
She insisted she was actually still young and then diverted their attention by explaining some medical terms to them. I listened to my mom explain to 8-year-old Dylan, 6-year-old Summer and a play date the definition of high cholesterol and what it means to have a stroke.
Then the play date interrupted my mom’s pre-med lesson with some questions of her own. She wanted to know how each of my mom’s dogs had died over the years.
I think a lot of grandmothers might of answered, “Want to play Chutes & Ladders?”
But no, my mother went through every dog she had ever owned and exactly how it had died. Sabrina had that painful neck problem and had to be put to sleep. Whisper died of old age. Another one had kidney failure. One got hit by a car. It was very informative.
It seems like my mom is embracing 70. Because really what choice do we have as we embark on this aging process? And I’m glad that she’s feeling good…. emotionally, physically and spiritually.
I love that my mother is too busy with yoga to see me on her birthday. I love that she thinks she’s a neat person but that she’s actually quite messy. I love that I made fun of her driving and then karma cursed me because the very next week, I side swiped a parked car. I love that I left a note on the car because that’s what my mother taught me to do.
I love that my mom thinks George Bush Sr is young. And that she would take the time to explain how each of her dogs died to some curious elementary school students.
Happy birthday to the most quirky, compassionate, honest woman I know. I have a feeling you are just getting started. xo