Aging, uh, gracefully

I had dinner with two friends tonight to celebrate the 65th birthday of one of them. While she appreciated the attention, she isn't exactly celebrating. She moaned and groaned when she turned sixty, and now sixty-five seems even worse to her. Sometimes I feel a little offended, like she should think before she says that to me. But I did point out tonight that I am 72, don't feel it and don't think I look it. The third friend began to smirk, and I said, "What? You think I look 72?" She said that was not at all what she was thinking, and I believe her. I asked the birthday girl how old her husband is, and she replied, "Seventy-seven." So there! But she said she feels 34.
I've talked about this before--that there is an age you feel you are all your life, no matter your chronological age. At 34, my friend was in the depths of a bad place, a bad marriage. I too feel I'm in my mid-thirties and then didn't know that I was in a marriage that was about to turn bad. Then I had young children--one still to come--and thought life was pretty good. But if you ask me, I wouldn't go back to that age for anything, unless I could take with me the wisdom, knowledge, and world view I've gained over the years. Not that I am by any means an aged sage, but I look back at myself in my thirties and think how naive, how shallow, how innocent of the real world I was. And I find I like myself better these days--I'm more patient, less anxious (some won't believe that), not bothered by the demons of my thirties. And I'm probably happier than I've ever been in my life, more content with life and with myself. It's a great feeling. I hope my friend can reach it, though she's in the midst of a stressful work situation right now.
It was a great dinner--I had a chopped salad, huge, and the other ladies had pasta. We were at my current and longtime favorite restaurant, Patrizio's. It's just now finally come to Fort Worth from Dallas. They brought us complimentary spumoni because it was a birthday, and we all enjoyed.
Back to the real world tomorrow, and I will be confused all week about what day of the week it is. Now that I'm retired, I sometimes wake up wondering what day it is and what I am supposed to do that day. Somehow every morning seems like Saturday to me.

Patrizio's, work, and gardens

For years, Patrizio's at Highland Park Village was my favorite restaurant in Dallas, and I ate there every chance I got. I loved their appetizers, Megan loved the bellinis, and Jamie, the crab claws. Now, Patrizio's has come to Fort Worth. Betty and I ate there tonight and considered it a winner. She had a penne pasta dish, and I had a chopped salad, both excellent. Service was good and so fast it almost made my head spin, atmosphere good. I couldn't talk Betty into dessert, so I had to forego the double chocolate mousse, which would, of course, have required a second glass of wine. I'm not forgetting it for next time, and we've already settled on our menu next time--splitting crab cakes and the hearts of palm salad. The restaurant is one of several in a new very sophisticated high-rise develoment area that includes lots of condos, gyms, a movie theater, etc. The only drawback is that parking is really really difficult. We never could locate the valet parking for Patrizio's, though last week we used the valet service at Bailey's. We decided tonight was one of our better adventures--and the prices are reasonable.
I worked today, though this morning I ran errands--to the office to drop off a manuscript, to Coldwater Creek to check out the 70% off sale (nothing grabbed my attention, and I doubt it was all 70% off), and then to Albertson's for groceries. But after lunch I wrote about 770 words on my novel (now that's become my daily standard--I had an older colleague who said a page a day is a book a year, but I figure I'm outdoing that--and some days I get in more words as I may tonight but then other days I get none written, so it's probably a wash).
Tonight I had my usual evening stint of reading on the porch with a glass of wine and glorying in all the greenery. Boy, do I have a list for Greg tomorrow--I discovered that a fern-like plant in the planter box is overshadowing a struggling oregano plant (and I don't think the fern is edible--Greg know what it is, but I think it needs trimming). My fig tree has more figs than you can imagine, some of them enormous. I watch them carefully because I want to get to them before the birds and squirrels do, but they're just not quite ripe yet. Greg is supposed to put down grass in the way back part of the back yard, where it had all died, and I need to call his attention to the weeds and sprouting trees in the narrow space between my house and my neighbors. It seems every time I go out in the yard, I find something else that needs attention.