Sixty years ago the supermodel Christy Brinkley and I were born. And there the similarity ends. Well no, wait a minute. In an interview earlier this year she conceded as she gingerly rose from a couch and stretched back and forth, "I'm greasing the joints, trying to get them going....I do feel old when my hips act up!" Now she is talking my language.
Had this younger version of me known then what I know now I would have followed up my helping of birthday cake and punch with a chaser of bran, fish, ginkgo biloba, and green tea. Instead of playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey my group of friends would have done some yoga. At that age (about nine or ten based on the candles) standing on our heads would have been easy. When we went outside to play Tag we would have slathered on zinc oxide ointment instead of the baby oil we would use for years to encourage tanning. I would have told her that having a group of friends around to celebrate birthdays is going to be one of the best things about growing older.
These days there are limitations on the amount of food I want to ingest at one sitting, knowing I don't want to be miserable for hours after a meal. I hesitate more before stepping off a curb, knowing I don't want to be laid up for weeks with an injury. I want a good seven to eight hours of sleep every night, knowing less will make me cranky for a good twenty four hours. Clothes shopping takes less time these days, knowing current styles aren't for my body shape so why agonize? Sunday evening has become my favorite time of the week, knowing a little grandson and his family will be popping in for a Facetime visit.
Now, if my 80 (90?) year old self could just come give my sixty year old self some insights into the next twenty years that would be a very nice birthday present indeed.
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