End of June

I keep thinking June is over, but it keeps moseying along. Today and tomorrow - and THEN we'll have July. And the 4th. And my birthday. I'm going to be 65! I should sign up for Medicare this week, mustn't forget (although I think I have 3 more months in which to do it). We have health insurance through Rocket Boy's government retirement, but I have to sign up for Medicare Part A to help cover hospital care. 

Medicare, oh my goodness. Now THAT makes me feel like I'm getting old. But otherwise I don't feel that way at all. Maybe because I keep getting a little thinner, I sometimes feel like I'm getting younger.

I had a sweet, sad dream this week, which I felt was related to my age. I was trying on dresses in front of a mirror. These were dresses I've owned in my life, mostly, some I still have, some I don't, but some I'd never seen before. Some fit, some didn't. I tried on a pale yellow sweater dress (nothing I've ever owned in real life) but it was too big. I pulled at it to try to make it fit, but then realized I was already too small for it due to Mounjaro, so it wasn't going to work, ever. My mother, who was standing nearby, ironing, agreed with me. "Where did I get this?" I asked her, and she said it was from some fancy resale shop in Palo Alto that I'd never heard of. Then I tried on my old witch's cape, which she made me when I was about 10 (and which I still have). I went twirling around the room in it. Suddenly I was struck by how happy I was to be there with my mother. I twirled over to her and gave her a big hug. "You can Never Ever EVER die!" I told her, laughing. And then I woke up. And I thought: my mother IS dead. She's been dead for 17 and a half years. And I lay there for a long time thinking about this.

I'm mostly OK with the fact that I don't have a mother anymore. (Here we are together, me in a (wedding) dress.) She'd be 103 if she were alive. People don't live forever, they live for their time and then they go. I had her for 47 years, which is a good long time. My own kids probably won't have me that long. I was 47 when they were born, which means I'd have to live to be 94. I mean, it's possible, but it doesn't seem likely. My goal is to make it to 90, at which point they'd be 43, but even that would be a stretch. My mother lived to be 85. If I only make it to 85, my kids will be 38 when they lose me. That's in 20 years.

And since Rocket Boy is 6 years older than me and has some serious health problems, he'd probably already be gone (although you never know, it's true). So then they'd be alone. I worry about this, probably more than I should, especially regarding Teen B. Teen A has lots of friends, so maybe by his 30s he'll also have a partner. But I don't know.

There's nothing I can do about any of this, so worrying won't help. Still, it's hard not to. 

As I get older, I think about whether there's anything I still want to do with my life that I haven't done, and there isn't much. Now don't get me wrong, there are MANY things I would still like to do: I'd like to read hundreds more books, I'd like to write all sorts of novels and stories, I'd like to travel to all sorts of places, and I'd like to help the world and individual people in whatever ways I can think of. But none of this is very specific. I don't have a real bucket list. Pretty much whichever things end up happening will be fine with me.

My mother had a little bucket list. I remember the year Rocket Boy and I got married, 2002, she told me she wanted to see the Sandhill Cranes in Nebraska and the Grand Canyon in Arizona. So, 6 months later, when she was almost 81, we went and did both of those things together. It was so much fun, especially the cranes.

I just can't think of anything like that for myself. I'd like to visit every state in the union -- but if I don't, it's OK. I'd like to go to Alaska. But Montana would be good too. I'd like to go to Hawaii. But Costa Rica would be good too. I'd like to go to New England. But British Columbia would be good too. I'd like to go to Australia. But Germany would be good too. They all sound like fun trips. I'm sure I'd enjoy them all.

*** 

This was a pretty low-key week. Once again I was laid low by the drug, so didn't have much energy. Cooking worked out pretty well, though. I had decided it was Pride Week, on account of yesterday being Pride Day, so on my three cooking days, I made rainbow foods for dinner. Sort of. This picture shows my lovely Rainbow Pizza (before I put the cheese on it), which I made on Monday. 

Rainbow Pasta (Thursday) was less successful. I did find a box of three-colored pasta (tomato, spinach, and regular plain), but when cooked, the colors didn't really stand out. I put pesto on it for a sauce, and then mixed in some leftover salmon (Rocket Boy had fixed salmon on Tuesday and Wednesday) and the flavors didn't meld well. Teen A ate his, but Teen B took a couple of bites and then pushed his plate away. I think an Alfredo sauce would have been better.

Rainbow Salad (Friday) was nice, but Teen A refused to even come to the table. Teen B picked the croutons out of the bowl and had some watermelon and that was that.

This coming week, with 4th of July and all, I have dubbed Patriotic Week. This means that we will be eating red, white, and blue foods, as well as traditional American foods, whatever those might be. Baked beans (from a can). Cornbread. Clam chowder (from a can). Potato salad. Hot dogs. Apple pie. Macaroni and cheese -- Rocket Boy is going to make that on Tuesday, or no, maybe Wednesday. We're supposed to have a power outage on Tuesday from 8 to 4, so I don't know if we'll do any cooking that day. We're thinking we might go to a museum in Denver, and/or the botanical garden.

For my birthday, on the 5th, I am planning to make a Strawberry Bundt Cake, which I found on the NY Times cooking site. The weather forecast says it will be mostly sunny that day, with a high near 83, so I think I can turn on the oven. Some years it's so hot in early July that you don't even want to THINK about ovens.

Maybe this coming week I will also manage to restart my patriotic activities, such as writing and calling my elected representatives. It'll all depend on how I feel, I think. I should be adjusting to this new dose of Mounjaro by now. One of these days. This past week I spent most of Tuesday and Wednesday lying down, and even Thursday wasn't great. On the plus side, I managed to finish reading my latest Presidential biography, about FDR, so that was something. 

Rocket Boy asked me if there were anything I wanted for my birthday, and I said yes! A large rectangular planter. I want to put it here (see photo), underneath the window box that hangs off the side of the porch. He was dubious, but I did some research and found a company in Canada that sells lovely cedar planters and we ordered one. It's 3 feet long and 30 inches high. The website said it will be delivered "in July," which might mean July 31st, but I will look forward to seeing it whenever it gets here. I want to fill it with something like petunias or impatiens, just a big mass of color.

So. A strawberry cake, the promise of a planter, a present from my sister, and probably a few cards. And Medicare. I think it will be a lovely birthday.