Rural Routes, Blog Version

I decided to change the name of this blog. I’m not sure that a 60-year-old can legitimately call herself middle-aged. Wishfully, perhaps, but not legitimately.

I turned 60 last week and still haven’t decided whether it’s a milestone or a millstone.

My brother reminded me that 60 is just a number. It means nothing, he said.

It’s three times twenty, I thought, but did not say.

A few days later, I was in the local Walmart when a woman I know came up to me.

“Happy birthday,” she said.

“Happy birthday to you, too,” I replied.

Her birthday is the day after mine. In small communities, you get to know things like that.

We commiserated about having a birthday in mid-May when Mother’s Day and Mother’s birthday tend to get lumped into one. It’s rather like having a December 25 birthday, I think.

Not that I need more ‘stuff’. I already have much more than I need, but it’s not about necessity.

I remember an elderly aunt of mine talking about Christmas gifts.

“I don’t need anything, but I haven’t stopped wanting yet,” she said with a grin.

Me neither.

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