"Sixty". How weird.

Today begins my last week of being in my 50's. I've always loved having my birthday in August. Perhaps it's because so many of my childhood birthdays were shared with my brother Andrew and sometimes we would be on vacation to visit our grandparents in Colorado or even our aunt in Arizona. My sister would often bake a sheet cake and frost it with our family's favorite orange frosting and decorate it with twisted half orange slices. I have never really liked cake, but that frosting I could eat by the spoonful.

The mountain is blooming with all sorts of flowers, grasses and weeds. Never, in my almost sixty (SIX. ZERO.) years of life have I ever suffered with allergies until now. The sneezing, itchy nose, watery eyes have been relentless and I'm aaaaaalmost ready to embrace an early frost should we experience one.

Ignoring my google searches of "how long is allergy season in northern Utah and how to treat" since staying indoors as much as possible is highly recommended, I head out each night for a hike through the pollen (and smoke) filled air.

"Sixty". I say it out loud to see how weird it sounds. I think of my birthdays that had sixes in them; checking my memory to see if there was any significance to them. Six years old. The age I learned to read.

A little girl growing up in a tiny town of Dumas, Texas attending Green Acres Elementary School; my world was now expanded to wherever the pages of a book would take me. I checked out books from the public library on weekly visits with Mama. I just knew I'd work as a librarian one day when I grew up and would play "library" with my stack of books for hours, removing the due date cards out of the inside pocket of each book, pretend stamping each in the stamp machine (the lamp) and replacing them back into the books. I'd play library until I'd feel the tug of my baby-dolls needing my attention and then turn to either dressing them up, doctoring them or making mud pies for them.

Six years old was a good year.

Sixteen. If any birthday is built up to be a big deal it has to be this one. Freedom to drive! Freedom to date! "Sweet Sixteen". Mesa, Arizona was still a small enough city in 1981 that Mama had me running errands for her in the stick-shift Nissan Sentra she'd purchased one day when going to shop for new tires, since I'd turned fifteen. I guess turning sixteen meant I could now officially get on the Superstition Freeway and drive my little brother around. I got my drivers license on my birthday, and drove myself to the grocery store and bought a frozen Sara Lee cake, brought it home and reminded my parents it was my birthday. (They literally had forgotten) I got my first speeding ticket that same week; and was also ticketed for not driving with my glasses on. As for the dating part of sixteen, that wasn't really a thing for me. My shyness and introvert'ness I think often got mistaken for rudeness and unfriendliness. I was lucky to have a couple of good guy friends that asked me to a few prom-type dances, and I'm grateful I got to have that fun high school experience.

If I could go back and be sixteen again.....I would; but only for a day. I'd be less shy and afraid of saying or doing something dumb. I do and say dumb things all the time these days and it's nice to not care a whole lot it when I do.

Twenty Six. My first baby was like having a living baby doll to play with. My second baby I was a bit overwhelmed with feeling of two tiny people ganging up on little old me. My third baby was born four months after I turned twenty six, and I felt like I had hit my stride in mothering. We were poor as church mice, but I felt the wealth of being home with my littles and taking long walks with them, teaching them to swim, lazy afternoons with picnic lunches on the front lawn and a pile of library books Grandma Pearl would bring us each week for bed-time reading as we'd all pile up in the rocking chair. I'm forever grateful there was no internet, no cell phone to distract me or make me feel like my life lacked in some way or another. If ever I was distracted, it would have been by a novel I'd checked out from the library. I remember limiting myself to how many books to check out, since pacing myself wasn't my best skill.

If I could go back to my twenties, I would; only so that I could be with all my little people again. Such a glorious time of baby'ness, toddling toddlers, and being witness to my children discovering the world. I'd also not take for granted my muscles and joints. How blissful to be so unaware of such things.

Thirty Six. The year 2001 and I was now the mother of a fifteen-year-old and and a sixth new-born baby. I finally understood my hormones. I was learning to say no to demands on me and my time. I also had a deepening understanding that my baby having days were winding down, and I was becoming more stingy about sharing my newborn with anyone at all. I was also remember being amazed at how little sleep I could thrive on. Staying up late for teenagers and what sleep I did get was interrupted with night feedings. I became a master of the power nap; five to ten minutes and I could conquer the rest of the day. My need for exercise and at least an evening walk became paramount to my mental and physical well-being. In my thirties, I remember thinking I'd be in that decade of my life forever. (I still feel like I'm in my thirties).

If I could be thirty six again, I would. Honestly, I'd love to have cute maternity clothes.

Forty Six. At forty six I was now a grandmother, and also helping with my aging parents who had joined households with us. The years of being sandwiched between the duties and challenges of parenting a house full of teens and young adults all while observing the decline of one's once strong, active, capable, beloved parents is unexplainable. My daddy would pass away six months after my birthday. Most of my life, even as an adult, I'd either lived with my parents or very close by.

If I could go back to being forty six for a day I would do it, and I would hug my daddy so tight and smell his neck and tell him how much I love him and how grateful I am that today I can still feel his presence with me especially when I'm driving alone. He was the best travel companion. He still is.

Fifty Six years old. I'd gone through menopause. My baby chicks had all flown from my nest. I had been married to the love of my life for eight years. I was also now an adult orphan.

A year to the date of Mama's passing we created a new event on the calendar by moving from the large now empty and far too quiet house in the city to a tiny A-frame cabin in the mountains. I was learning to be okay with the quiet. At first it was disconcerting and I filled my days with as much noise as possible; playing music too loudly or listening to too many podcasts or audio-books. It was the quiet time that the ache for my parents would seep in.

Evening hikes became a good way to embrace the quiet and stillness.

I think I've had more personal growth in my fiftieth decade than any other. And as my hair girl says, "You just don't give an "F" anymore about what other people think." During our monthly circle of trust time when she covers my gray roots, we talk about anything and everything. A confessional of sorts where she doesn't judge me and she helps me figure out how best to deal with my old lady hair. "Let's go a little lighter." I tell her, "So that when I do decide to let the grays all have their way with me it'll be an easier transition." I'll probably still go see her once a month until the day I die, just so I can talk and she she can wash my hair. Washing your own hair is like trying to scratch your own back; it's just not nearly as satisfying as when someone else does it.

As I leave my fifties, I ask myself, "Would I stay here? Would I re-do anything?" The answer has to be "No". I'm a bloom where I'm planted type of gal. Next week I'll have my roots set deep into my sixtieth decade. I'm excited for it. I have love in my life. An incredible husband that loves me and makes sure I know it every day. I have children and grandchildren that I completely adore and if I had to choose them as friends, I would. I am surrounded by nature and that gives me so much peace. My best friend lives nearly walking distance from me and that is almost as fun as being sixteen again. I have a community of neighbors and church that supports me and I know that I'm never alone. I am so lucky.

"Sixty". It doesn't sound so bad really.