I have a friend who has an epiphany about every seven days--you know, one of those bright flashes of insight that changes your life. Most of us are fortunate if we have three or four in our lifetime, but this friend is always reinventing her life--which actually might be kind of fun. But I had an epiphany--or a semi-one anyway--the other day. I was thinking how my bad balance problems began oh, maybe two weeks before my birthday. And it dawned on my--I didn't turn seventy quite as easily as I let on to the world. I laughed and joked about it, had a huge and wonderful b'day party--one of the highlights of my life--and joked about after I turned seventy everything was recalled, from my car to my colon. But I think I was dancing to fool the devil. I think turning seventy shook me--Jim, who is 6 months from 78, said to me today, "Of course it shakes you." But I truly do find it hard to think of myself as 70. That sounds old, and I don't feel old, walking stick or no. I think I've mentioned on this blog before my belief that we each have an age where we perpetually see ourselves and mine is about 35--I was happily married, my kids were young and wonderful (of course, they are still wonderful), but I don't know if that's it or if it's that I still see the world as I did at 35. Jim said his "lifetime" age is 18, not because it was a happy time in his life but because that's how he sees the world.
Anyway, now that I've taken off the rose-colored glasses and most of my car and medical problems have been dealt with, maybe I can really come to grips with no longer being able to use the euphemism "late middle age" and learn to understand that I truly am a senior citizen.
I don't want to push this, saying this "epiphany" improved my balance, but it is getting better. Jean noticed it when we went shopping the other day, and Melinda saw it when we went to lunch. And today I went alone to the country club for a luncheon and had to park--oh, half a block from the entrance. The walk was made difficult not by fear of open spaces but by the heavy heavy book bag and purse I had on my bad shoulder. Now that is something I can deal with in practical terms. A friend told me tonight she has a manuscript carrier on wheels, like an small overnight case only even smaller.
It has been a busy couple of days. Yesterday we had a long but productive (and fun) meeting about a book we're doing of the work of the photographer who chronicled the black community in Fort Worth during the last half or more of the 20th century. He took pictures of everyone from school children to world leaders, and the journalist who's working on the essays for it has had a wonderful time trying to identify people in the pictures, tracking down stories, etc. Yesterday we sorted photos and matched them to categories in his essays.
Today I took my car to be inspected--it was only three weeks overdue, had an advisory council meeting (only three people showed up but we zipped through my brief agenda and came up with great ideas), went to a luncheon for past presidents of Friends of the Library, and went to dinner with Betty--plus did a lot of work at home. I'm working on a proposal for the mystery--an agency that requires a long and complicated proposal with a cover sheet, a "sell sheet," a biography, a synopsis, a market analysis, an author marketing plan, a history of the manuscript (where it's been submitted), and a 30-page synopsis. I figure getting all that together will be good for me, even if the agency says "Thanks, but no thanks."
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