What do I want for my birthday?
I want to see shooting stars in the dark sky in the night.
I want to see elephants walking around freely, happy in their habitat, in their groove, in their families.
I want a trip to Bali or some such place. It could be anywhere, really: the Moulin Rouge in Paris, Covent Garden in London, Golden Gate Park in San Francisco.
I want a bright sunny day, for once in my life, on my birthday, October 28. When the world is plunging into darkness, death, winter, short days, hibernation, transformation,
When all the golden leaves are falling fast to the ground,
When the chill in the air is a shock to the system,
Just once, I would like a bright, sunshiny day. And I think I'll get it.
I would like to not listen to the news on my birthday.
No news is good news.
Instead I would like to go for a long walk in the beauty that surrounds us.
I would like to feel a state of grace, a birthday peacefulness,
To be in touch with my angels guiding me along,
To see them flying around, tapping me on the shoulder, kissing my cheek.
I would like to eat, drink and be merry and for my tummy to feel good and calm.
I would like to exercise my body, to dance wildly, Salsa and Hip Hop and Zumba at the advanced age of 67,
To feel young and cool, still,
Yet to have the wisdom that age can sometimes bring.
To me, the wisdom of age is completely about the visceral understanding that time is so limited,
That death is closer than it was. I can reach out and touch it.
And, because of that, I can experience the preciousness, the beauty,
The glory, the gratitude for each day,
For this day,
This golden day,
This dark and windy day.
I want new socks for my birthday and I think I might get them.
I've had hints.
I want my friends, my loved ones, to feel better, lighter, happier, dreamier.
Oh, please; oh, please. This is my prayer.
I want Marilynne Robinson's new book, "Lila" and I think I will get it, one way or another.
I want Roz Chast's graphic memoir about caretaking her parents, called
"Can We Talk About Something More Pleasant?"
I think I will get that one too.
I want to flow through the day like a gazelle.
I want to feel like I have wings and I can fly.
I want to dance the Can Can to French music.
I want the drive to Danby to be filled with yellow leaves as it has been for weeks now.
A golden tunnel of leaves on Comfort Road.
Just a few more days. Oh, please. Oh, please.
Am I asking too much?
Am I setting myself up?
Am I often disappointed?
Is it ever enough?
Is it always enough?
Am I over thinking things?
How do we measure a life, a day, a dream, the world?
As we plunge into the darkness of winter, how is it possible that everything is so exquisitely beautiful in its dying state?
The world is exquisitely golden, breathtaking, heartbreaking all at once.
Is this what life is?
The wisdom of the ages?
Young and cool forever?
Growing old and getting sick?
Closer to death and loving every minute?
Is this what it is?
Am I asking too much?
Do I have too many questions?
Am I living in the golden glory of the world?
