My actual birthday is Cinco de Mayo, May 5th. This year I’ll turn 73, a robust age by any standards. I consider the entire month my “birthday season”, and always have. Given the busy life of my family and friends here in Seattle, my flexibility about celebrations occurring on any day of the month actually brings me a lot of unexpected fun
On Tuesday evening Klainer West is coming here for supper. On Sunday May 6, I’m having brunch with Matt’s family, and then friend Louise and I are going to the opera and out to supper to celebrate. Not sure what will happen on the actual day, May 5, other than the Kentucky Derby. But I am feeling richly celebrated already.
Odd bits of Roman Catholic lore pop up from memory. One of the nuns who taught theology at the College of St. Elizabeth told us she’d wanted to die at 33, supposedly the age Jesus was when he was crucified. Lacking that — she was already much older — she wanted to die at 73, the purported age of the Virgin Mary at her death. I have no such aspirations.
I am a very fortunate 73 year old. I have health, financial stability, and a loving circle of family and friends who are actively in my life. I never take any part of that for granted, not for a moment.