When I'm Sixty-Four ...

Birthday cards include a handmade "Hallmark Classic" from Bob

Doing the garden, digging the weeds,
Who could ask for more?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

They were just Beatles lyrics, not so long ago, it seems. Almost unbelievable, but here I am, "doing the garden, digging the weeds" ... at 64.

When I was a little girl, my mother hosted great birthday parties, with good games and lovely prizes for the guests. I almost always felt cheated, because my sister and I weren't allowed to win, and it seemed that the prizes awarded sometimes exceeded the quality of gifts received.

The last party I remember was for my tenth, "golden" birthday on August 10, 1960. The day began badly, when I stepped on broken glass and cut my foot. The wound bled, off and on, most of the day, and a Band-Aid didn't keep the blood from staining the brand new white socks which reminded me of the incident until they were finally retired many months later.

Most other birthdays are tangled in my mind, one indistinguishable from the next. A few exceptions: #25, in Provincetown, Massachusetts - too many Harvey Wallbangers turned me off Galliano, pretty much for life; #30, on Durocher Street in Montreal - my godmother, Catherine Lynn, called me from my home town of Temiscaming, an unusual occurrence in those long ago days of expensive long distance phone rates; #40, in the State Office Building in St. Paul - my first summer at the Minnesota Legislature; #60, at home in St. Paul, when one too many gin martinis sent me to bed in the early evening, thereby eliminating yet another libation from faves at the home bar.

I love the month of August in general, and August 10 in particular. The day is almost always hot and sunny, great weather for any outdoor activity. I always think of it as the apogee of summer, after which signs of autumn manifest themselves, as the hours of daylight decline rapidly and the first colored leaves appear on drying trees. A jacket is often required in the evenings from now on and, of course, the State Fair is on the horizon.

I'm a little dismayed to be looking forward to 65 a year from now, when Medicare kicks in and health insurance prices go down. The Silver Sneakers program will give me a gym membership for $25 a year.

Paraphrasing Denny Crane's comment to Shirley Schmidt in one of the later episodes of Boston Legal, I may have more good years behind me than ahead of me, but the future still holds a few more adventures and good times.