Today is a day I never seriously considered “happening” to me.  I’m 60.  Sixty. Years. Old.  21,915 days…we won’t count seconds.  I don’t want to admit out loud to being 60.  It sounds offensive.  Six decades!  I think I prefer three score.  My age is a mere three score.

Just yesterday, I was in a whole different decade.  I also had a halo. Well, it was gray roots. Very pronounced gray roots.  My friend, Miss Clairol, helped me get back to normal.  Erm…Normal, not natural. 

In my younger days when I heard something like, “So-and-so died.  She was only in her sixties,” I would think to myself, “She had a good, long life.”  Funny how time changes one’s way judging.  In my heart, I relate to being 40, but that’s my daughter’s age.  I’ll have to relate to her being 24.  Is it denial?  Maybe a mental coping mechanism?  I’m officially old.  Grateful, but old.  My inside age will remain 40 until further notice.

I remember my 40^th birthday like it was a few years ago. It sounded old at the time. My sisters sent me a tombstone cake and black balloons to work, announcing my closely guarded secret to my all-male co-workers. Men are occasionally more likely to rib us ladies about our age.  We women are sometimes kinder to each other.  Sometimes not. 

:::Sideways glance at that person who has been known to start our conversations with, “Hey, Old Woman!”::::   She knows who she is.

Just yesterday morning, right after saying “Happy Birthday Eve!” Ole Boy looked at me and said, “60?!  Really??  60??!!”

Yeah.  60.   
I mean three score!

And next week, I will be embarking upon an unexpected event:  Early retirement.  At this moment, I am not sure which direction I will go.  Finally complete my novel?  Write a devotional?  Improve my doodles until I can say its art?  Write in my blog more?

I don’t know. 
I’ll think about that tomorrow, when I am three score and one day.