Today’s my birthday

I’m 62 today. Weird. I remember my mother at 62, and while I am sure she felt like I do today, she didn’t look like how I feel to me. I feel young, and live my life the way I want to (within reason considering life is about compromises especially if you are married). I wear clothes made by Helen (, have an odd sense of humor, make puppets, and spend a lot of time in New York City going to Broadway plays, walking the Highline, and perusing museums, all the while living my life in a one of kind house in New Jersey. (see the Spiderman climbing the wall behind my portrait? Catch the moustache on the mirror in the guest bathroom?). Between sorting out faux fur for my puppets, costuming local productions, my face is buried in my Nook reading the Times, or Bossypants by Tina Fey. Could my many interests and passions be a result of being childless? Perhaps. When I think of my mother at 62, she was obsessed with her grandchildren, although by then she wasn’t seeing them as much as she did when they were younger. Her life interests revolved around my Dad, or domestic activities (hey, I cook, sew, crochet, knit, too. I am most proud of my 10 pairs of homemade socks that I wear). The women of her generation (by and large) considered their role as “supporters of their husbands and mother to their children” and they threw themselves into it. While they were not what is now considered “helicopter” parents, we, as children, were not necessarily “pushed” into anything more than “go outside and play”. As a baby boomer, I am the recipient of a mother who made sure I had 3 square meals, clean clothes, developed manners, guilt and respect, did my homework, and prepared to do my part in life. I wonder if at 62, when I was 40, if she looked at my life and thought, “I remember being 40, and I know what she is feeling right now, but when I look at her I don’t understand why she looks and acts differently than I did”.


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