The Class of 1969 celebrates

I celebrated 40 years of life last week with a terrific group of women. I graduated from high school in 1969 from a small private girls school in the Midwest. There were 33 of us back then, and about a dozen of us gathered to reminisce and recharge our friendships over the weekend. I was amazed at how easily we reconnected. I think it happened because as we're nearing sixty, we can experience and celebrate the best part of aging. High school drama is way behind us. No more cliques to create separation, no more raging hormones. We're mostly empty nesters. We're married, divorced, widowed, and wiser. We've survived & are grateful for it.

David Foster Wallace, Author: 1962-2008

My oldest son recently introduced me to an author I fell in love with: David Foster Wallace. I was so enthralled by his writing I was ready to send him a fan letter...something I swear I've only done once or twice in my life (really!!). When I googled his name to find contact information, I read that he had committed suicide in the fall of 2008. According to sources on-line, Wallace suffered from debilitating depression for most of his adult life. I guess he couldn't cope anymore. When I read that he had hanged himself, I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. Does being a genius make life among mere mortals unbearable? I'm sad for his family and for readers everywhere. What a terrible loss. I recommend his book "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again." It's witty and irreverent. Keep a dictionary close at hand--you'll need it for his Phd vocabulary! :) David, I hope you know peace now.

Having a Fit about Getting Fit

Is exercising when you're pushing 60 akin to an oxymoron....or is it just plain moronic? I'm back from my "Gravity" class where I was going through the paces (make that "the agony") with 3 women about half my age. You know who I mean, the kind of buff beauties who can maintain a light-hearted conversation with no panting after the 100th consecutive crunch or bicep curl? My bad right knee is protesting and I'm beginning to feel a familiar stabbing pain between my shoulder blades. Be still my heart, and pass the Ibuprofen! The weirdest part of aging for me is continuing to feel about 25 years old deep in the recesses of my cobwebby brain...but if I try for one single silly second to think that my body can still "go for the burn," I will pay for such wanton reckless behavior well into the next century. Even Jane Fonda got smart and gave up her fitness freak didn't she? OK, I flushed that rant out of my system. I'll be back at the gym Wednesday asking for more.

Spring Sunday

A warm breeze is blowing through the window and a mourning-dove coos softly as evening settles in. I've spent hours at the computer today composing an introduction to honor an old friend at our 40th high school reunion this weekend. I was pleased with my piece, only to find out after a practice read (foisted on my husband), that I've exceeded my allotted time. Not just by a minute or two, but by six of the little sixty second devils. Nothing like being TOTALLY over-prepared. Time to get the scissors out and start cutting. Sigh....the life of a writer....edit, edit, edit.