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| Imagine if we could behave how we feel, without "Act your age!" hanging over us. |
Tomorrow is my birthday and I am not happy about it. I do not enjoy counting the rings. I wonder how old I'd think I am if nobody were keeping track, like the government and the Internet and every store I ever shopped at. For weeks now my mailbox has been crammed with birthday discount cards from places I forgot even existed, all wanting me to celebrate by buying something from them.
One positive thing about birthdays is the tradition of giving people gifts on the day they were born. (As if still being alive for another year isn't enough of a gift.) But too often they miss the mark and you've got to lie to your friends and family and say how much you love the thing before tossing it in a drawer or, worst-case scenario, the trash. (Yup, I've done that, except for anything from my son which has intrinsic Zack value.)
But this year I hit pay dirt. My husband surprised me with a new easel, without me even asking for one! My old one was cheap and rickety and, after countless years, caked with layers of paint. It hardly moved up and down anymore. The new one is a thousand times better: sturdy and solid, made of beautiful wood that seemingly demands one to create works of art worthy of its fine craftsmanship. It makes my being a year older a bit more palatable, although if you ask me it still sucks.
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