categories: Cocktail Hour / Getting Outside
They say it’s my birthday, nah-nah-nah-nah-nah! A year of no importance: 59. Next year, major party (“A man of sixty has spent twenty years in bed and over three years in eating.” ~ Arnold Bennett ). This year, meh. I feel a lot like I’ve made it up the hill like the little train that could, crested the hill proudly, lingered a moment at the top, and now find myself plummeting down the other side at speeds unheard of, and no brakes! It’s all in the mind, my sister-in-law said this afternoon (she’s visiting with her lovely kids from Los Angeles). No, I replied, It’s all in the body! And I’ve got some new bumper stickers to counter all the pabulum about aging I’ve been hearing: FIFTY-NINE IS THE NEW FIFTY-NINE! Or how about: YOU’RE ONLY AS OLD AS YOUR AGE! Or this: YOU’RE NOT GETTING OLDER, YOU’RE GETTING FATTER! Mick had it right: What a drag it is getting oh-0ld… I took my birthday walk this morning through the forest and was rewarded with a huge King Bolete (Boletus edulis, or in Italy, porcini), dreams of a fine lunch, slices sauteed in butter. But I took my safety nibble and found it bitter, bitter, ptooey! I’d found not a King Bolete but an unusually pale Tylopilus felleus, or Bitter Bolete! Perfect gift for the sorrowing birthday boy! But never fear, a swim in the stream, a birthday party (cake made by daughter and her cousins), surprise guests (Wes and Diane, Elysia’s honorary grandparents), and, I mean, well, okay. Wes’s jokes aside–”You think you’re taking a walk, but suddenly you realize you’re walking the plank!” Salut!