Dear Friends and Family:
Not that much happened to me this year … or maybe it’s that I’m getting old and can’t remember what happened. I believe I’ve entered what is euphemistically called a “woman’s change of life.” The hot flashes have really cut my heating bills and, even better, cut the frequency I have to wrangle a 40-pound bag of pellets into my pellet-stove. I swear, 40 pounds weighs a lot more today than it did 20-years ago. I think the Bureau of Weights and Measures should launch a full-scale investigation and Wiki-Leaks should post the results. I’ve also begun to wonder why people claim they’re younger than they are. I’m 53 and when I tell someone I’m 63, or better yet, 93, they say, “Wow, you’re in great shape!” I know a lot of baby boomers hate the idea of getting old, but I’m embracing my dotage and decrepitude and kind of enjoy the role of eccentric-wise-elder whose job it is to warp and mold those not yet old enough to have had their first colonoscopy.
Meanwhile, my adopted 10-year old-niece, Katie, spent much of the summer in a backyard pool. This may come as a surprise to those of you familiar with the climate here where two-consecutive 70° days are considered a heat wave and topless beaches are where the really frisky take off their sweatshirts. So how did Katie manage her daily dips? Solar panels and a wetsuit. She has a typical coastal Oregon tan where only her face and hands are dark. She’s young enough that she hasn’t developed a green patina from constant exposure to mold and mildew.
I hope you and yours are well and happy.
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