Things That Washed into the Creek

I've decided that the picture above is the official portrait of me at 60. It was taken while Monte and I were walking through the now-lively creek in our tall rubber boots, exploring its new meanderings and pulling out some of the debris from the previous week's storms. It was branches, mostly, and uprooted trees, but also pieces of fence, and wire road support, and a stray yellow rake, and that incongruous "Life is Good" volleyball that you see me holding.

I always wonder about such things. Whose was it? Where did it begin its journey? How did it come to be caught here in the culvert? (It harkens back to one of my favorite fairy tales..The Steadfast Tin Soldier. Remember how a gust of wind -- or was it the mean, scary jack-in-the-box? -- blew the tin soldier out the window and he was picked up by a street urchin who placed him in a newspaper boat and set him sailing in a rushing gutter which swept him along and tumbled him into a deep canal where he was swallowed by a fish, and discovered by the cook who cut the fish open...)

I know. That is a major and irrelevant digression. But the idea of it intrigues me. Whether it's a tin soldier or a volleyball, a piece of beach glass or an Indian pestle, I like unexpected travel and improbable outcomes.

Come to think of it, my whole life has been about improbable outcomes, and my course has been determined as much by chance as by choice. But standing in the creek bed at age 60, it seems that even the mistakes and detours ultimately brought me to a very fine moment.

Turning 60. No one will let me forget it, so I have decided to embrace it. Oh, I admit that it gives me pause. It has a serious sound to it, unless you're 70. At 60, one is unequivocally no longer young, and why is that surprising? It just arrives so much faster than you think it will.

But I also know I am so lucky to be here, and I feel humble and thankful, and for me, that's what being 60 is all about. Being grateful.

In the mailbox today I found a birthday card from my very first friend, Carol Bessey. I read it right there at the mailbox, of course. "Seems like only yesterday we were pushing our dolls along Coney Island Avenue," she wrote, and there I was standing at the junction of Sacate Canyon and Rancho Real...with tears in my eyes. It seems so unlikely that I would still be in contact with Carol, and that we can share and acknowledge those memories. What a gift that is!

Birthday bounty. There was an envelope, too, from Jill in England, with a drawing of a daffodil inside. And a package from Donna filled with things of silver and pearl. And yesterday I had lunch with Vickie and Cornelia, and I was lavishly gifted with music, words, laughter, and earrings. And Treacy sent me something of beach glass, an object made beautiful by the wear and tumbling of time and the sea.

Oh, how I love my friends, the old ones and the new ones. And my ragtag little family. And this shore that I washed up on that turned out to be home.

An aside, since I am here: I might as well bring up the fact of my disappearing blog, the blog that seems to have slipped into the fog and is only intermittently visible. The reason I haven't been blogging much in recent months is because, as I've said before, I am writing something else, the kind of writing that you might one day call a book and hold in your hand. Or maybe you will never call it a book and hold it in your hand. I am writing it anyway, and I'm immersed in the process, and it takes up most of my writing energy. It's very hard and sometimes dubious, but also strangely compelling.

But I didn't want this 60th birthday milestone to go by without checking in with my miniscule but discerning and much-appreciated readership. As I said, this birthday is about being grateful, and there were many times when I felt better for having "talked" to you, dear readers, those of you I know and those I don't, so thank you for being there.

Maybe blogging is sometimes a self-indulgent thing, and there's a sort of hubris in thinking anyone cares about the things you're babbling about, but for me it has always been about wanting to connect and communicate, about thinking out loud and sharing the process with others for whom it might resonate. I apologize for having almost abandoned this platform. I guess I'll be back now and then.

In the meantime, there I am at 60, purple gloves and all. I don't mind being ridiculous. I'm sort of happy.

Like the volleyball says, "Life is good."