And So It Begins...

I went running with Paul Bunyan last week.  It's been a long time since I've run.  Usually when I run for the first time in a long time I start to itch in places that have collected fat over the months/years.  I can only assume this is because said fat accumulation is JIGGLING.  And this itch usually takes place either on my BUTT or my inner thighs.  If this is too much information for you, well you should probably stop reading this blog for the next 40 days because I'm about to get all up close and personal with myself so let this be your WARNING.  Well, last Thursday my BACK FAT itched.  And I thought to myself, "Well, this is it.  It's time."

40.  Forty. Lordy. Forty.

I've always thought of myself as young at heart- may be my naivete or my lack of self confidence but I generally feel like when I'm around people with strong personalities they have this urgency (and I the need for them) to take me under their wing, even if they're younger than me.  So, I guess 40 sounds old and I can no longer go around carrying with me this disdainful needy personality trait.  It's time.

I was listening to NPR the other day (also something old people do) and I heard a woman say that one thing her mother taught her was that there were TWO important days in a woman's life: the day she was born and the day she realized why.  I obviously haven't figure out why yet.  It's time.

I've got white hairs growing out of my head and black ones growing out of my chin.  It's time.

It's time I celebrate this thing called old age.  And so I've heard of this tradition swirling around the ranks of middle-agedom about people celebrating 40 Days of 40.  And because I don't have the privilege of actually whooping it up in high style for 40 days I'm going to ratchet it down a few notches and write a little something every day about what I have the HONOR of celebrating before I turn the big four zero.

I'm not going to be celebrating ME or how great I am or how awesome I once was but am no longer; instead, I'm going to celebrate all the things I'm so excited to have around me.  Trite, I know.  But that's what you're used to around here, right? 

So today it snowed.  All day.  Tomorrow's the first day of Spring and everyone's wishing for the snow to go, the daffodils to sprout, the hyacinths to poke through.  But it's supposed to snow all night.  Maybe 10 inches?  Maybe more?  I'm so excited I could pee.  I know, it's crazy.  But I love snow.  I love the view from my window of the pond and my mountain and the ridge line I'll be buried on in another 40.  I love the hunkering down, the knitting I do, the reading the kids do, the puzzles that get pulled out, the pull to the mountain that's there the next day.  I love that the snow hides the ticks and the mud and the bugs and the dirt that gets into my insides when it all melts.  I love that the snow doesn't get into my rotors and brake pads and make us have to replace both like the mud does.

I love everything about winter and I'm simply not ready to let it go.  So thank you Mother Nature for hanging on for one more storm because today I celebrate one less day of mud seeping into the bottom of my bed.