Well, now that I've been 44 for a few days, I'm ready to post about it.
So far, it's like 43. It's fine.
I had a nice birthday, though - chocolates, garden statuary, a cookie-cake, lots of greetings and some nice cards.
I am loved, for sure.
Not surprisingly, I thought about Dad some, and I wish I could call him and tell him what's been going on lately. I think he'd be happy.
But, that is what it is, y'all. Moving on.
I am going to vote on Thursday - tomorrow is Halloween, and I'm dithering on whether to dress up or not. I'm kind of leaning "or not" - but it would surely make what to wear tomorrow a non-issue. I already know that I'll be handing out candy at home, and I have lunch plans with colleagues tomorrow. I'm bringing this:
Because who doesn't love a good hot dog? Right, exactly.
Over the weekend, I spent some time with some really special kids. The cloven-hooved variety.
The Shenanigoats people had a social hour with their new babies. Pippi and Poppi (twins), Olive, Pickle and Pimiento (triplets), TJ, Speed Racer, Lincoln (whose mother is Penny), and so on.
Goats are warm - their body temp is 103 degrees Fahrenheit. So imagine holding a sweet, warm baby goat in your lap and it falls asleep there, and they tell you she's smiling. That's a good way to spend an hour or so. I think I had either Olive or Pimiento...
I learned that goats gestate for five months. Which is amazing. When born they can walk THAT DAY. And they have three stomachs. And grow horns. I needed the goat time, apparently.
I'm feeling a little sentimental and overwrought. I know I need to simplify. Maybe that is the plan for tonight. Keep it easy.
I am also out of several meds that I need to pick up at Walgreens. I am a delicate flower with special medical needs that require chemical intervention. Depression. Anxiety. We've had this conversation.
So really - nothing new about 44. It's the new 43.
That's it, y'all. For now.