Six Decades: Part I

This particular birthday has been bothering me a lot over the past while. Ever since other friends, acquaintances, colleagues, et “all” have been hitting this milestone, and many in spectacular ways.

Some have sailed gracefully into the seventh realm...taking pictures of themselves dancing; sitting on mountain tops; eating unpronounceable foods in faraway places; building new homes on remote islands; walking ancient trails; being with original friends from long, long ago; setting new standards, new rules, new lives.

Me?

I survived. And I’m alive. Not famous in the big magazine sense of the word, but the local newspaper has  reported alot of stuff I’ve said and done over the past 12 years  in an official capacity for the City for which I work. And I printed one copy of my blog, http://www.susansgonetothebirds.blogspot.com when I achieved 5000 readers status. So now I own a 476 page soft-bound book that I did, indeed, write. One book.   One copy. No sales yet.  

At 60, (well, 59 yrs, 355 days) I can say with certainty, that I have never really fit in. I have very early memories, at less than 2 years old where my Mom was handing me to the sitter, arm cradle to arm cradle and I didn’t want to be passed off.  Collectively, they almost dropped the struggling Susan, but, again, collectively, they managed not to.

I remember potty training too. Amazing really...sitting on a little robin’s egg blue, tin-enamel pot in my parent’s bedroom, when the sitter came barging in and insisted that I stop, and put my diaper back on! I clearly understood that  she didn’t want to have to deal with baby Sue’s shit poo, and really? Who can blame her?

In grade 7, at Lloydminster Junior High School, several things happened all at once on a sultry June night in 1963. I was awarded a whack of medals for scholarly aptitude, and athletic aptitude, and dramatic aptitude..clean sweep and heady stuff for a 12 year old girl who really just wanted to kiss a guy and Lynn Brown in particular.

First Kiss: 12 years old, in the back of a car (that his older brother was driving), flying 80 miles an hour towards Sandy Beach, with the moonlight casting shadows from behind. I watched as his head leaned towards my head, and we both turned, and my knees melted, and ... is  it any wonder that my parents decided it was time to get their 3 pubescent daughters out of this small town?!

I think, re-reading what I’ve just written, that this is as good a place to pause as any. Not sure where this journey is leading me, but most assuredly, we’re on a little journey.

...to be continued