Sixty-nine is the new sixty-eight, except with more gray hair

Today at precisely 11:05 pm EDT I’m officially 69 years old. Yes, many a joke is, and was, made when my birthday actually falls on Labor Day every few years.

Maybe 69 means I don’t care what people think of me anymore. Rather obvious from my falling apart plastic jacket above. But then if I ask a young(er) person, she’ll tell me, I am sure, that it’s cool to walk around in shredded clothing.

Staying still Covid safe, there’s no big plan with the husband to fly off to Asia or Australia or Capetown, which I still do want to see. Nope, everything’s close to home. A visit with mom, figure it was a big day for her too long ago, and meet friends for dinner on one of my friend’s Manhattan rooftops. These small blessings seem big enough to mark another year in such an uncertain world.

My birthday wish is for more love, more peace and more brightness in the world. And laughter. Perhaps that can be supplied by this photo of early me 😉

“Did you really say I have to get up on stage and speak to hundreds of people?” Today one of my greatest joys.

And here’s to the love. Lately animals seem to do it better than humans.

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