SEVENTY

Yes, today I am a septuagenarian, seventy years old. (Please don’t say “seventy years young”—I find that too sticky-cute and somewhat insulting. I’ve earned my years.)

I made myself an applecake yesterday evening so that we could have it for breakfast after my run this morning. I used heritage pink apples gifted by a friend and the green ones that were in the crisper. I love baking and rarely have an excuse to bake other than bread, so this was fun. I made lemon curd the day before yesterday for a lemon pie this evening. We are having Dungeness crab mac&cheese for dinner and Gary has put a bottle of genuine Champagne in the fridge! Yes, it’s all about the food.

More than twenty years ago, when I was President of the Cannon Beach Arts Association, a local collector assured me that: “The best thing about being seventy is that no one expects you to look young anymore.” I would like to think that’s true today. Ursula K. Le Guin, who was never afraid of her age, argued for “crone” as a term of respect. Just let me be in good shape for my age. No, I do not “look exactly the same” as I did twenty or even ten years ago. I look my age.

This is me on the bridge during The Great Columbia Crossing 10k (6.2 miles). (I was about halfway through? Or maybe this was on the down ramp after the awful hill. I do recall a photographer there.) Running was on my list for post-70 accomplishments, but I will have to run The Crossing again next year just before my 71st birthday.

Yesterday we went to a party. It was outdoors and the music was wonderful and it was great to see and talk to people. I have always felt some social awkwardness, even among people I know well—unfortunate for a teacher, I know—and now, with the pandemic and age, I expect I am worse.

First thing this morning, I did not think Danté would bite me on the beach during my run. The black dog might have bounced off me, as dogs like to do, but he is a “ball dog” and so long as they have their ball in their mouth, ball dogs don’t worry me much. Still, I was grateful that the owner of this unleashed dog promptly intervened before a bounce. I can’t afford a fall.

The plan was just a short two miles, but I ran north to my “Turnaround Rock,” one and a half miles north, and back partway for a 2-mile run. By the time Gary caught up, we met a neighbor and the three of us walked another mile together.

There were birthday wishes waiting in my inbox when I got home.

Though it is only 9am here, I think I can already declare this a good day.

I need a shower.

The Japanese indigo-dyed field jacket came from a friend, who found it in her stash of ethnic fabrics. It is very close to the one I wore to pieces and feels perfect. What a wonderful birthday.