Birthdays...

My birthday just passed (thanks...) & it's got me thinking. There is some debate in my mind about whether we should celebrate birthdays by numbers. I was watching a show, albeit shallow, about how men have no interest in women over 30. Of course, a generalization. Another show, where "cougars" are the rage. For all who have no idea what a cougar is, it would be a wise, cunning & experienced wildcat that attacks it's younger prey. In this case, the "cougar" would be an older woman. Men have dated younger women for years. One of my dearest friends husbands just left her (she is 20 years younger than he) for another woman who is 40 years younger than he. Now my friend is what I would consider to be a perfect package in all respects. So this really was a tad bit shocking.

Just to clarify, I think it is worth noting that women are judged more harshly on their looks than men as they age.

OK - so the way I view this is that God (or your higher power or whatever - no debate from me) gives you these incredible physical attributes in your teens, twenties and thirties. You are fit, alert, energetic and able to stay up all night if need be. And so the story goes. But here's the clincher. As we age, we become more of who we were meant to be. We develop our spiritual side, discover what we are passionate about, understand what we want and need to fulfill us and hopefully (although my girlfriends have differing opinions on this one), become better lovers to our partners and appreciate our own self fulfillment. OK - could have used different words. Unfortunately, a lot of us don't hold onto those looks - it's a mean trick don't you think?

So why not skip the number? Why not just age gracefully and ban yourself from marriage until at least 36? That way you are well into the life phase of understanding self, have had a chance to look around the neighborhood to see what's available, have completed those must do things you want to do by yourself, have screwed up and embarrassed yourself in every possible way, have observed all your friends who have made dumb & dumber selections for life partners and are now ready to find that one piece that will fit your puzzle. If it is a youngin', or maybe an intellect, or a foxy cougar, or a sports addict, or a loving family focused mother/father type or a rich overachieving work-a-holic... who cares? Because no one can question your choice having watched you do all the crazy things you needed to do before you "settled" down.

Maybe I am writing this for my daughter because generationally things were different for me. I just know I want her to experience everything there is to experience before she settles for anything that doesn't walk parallel to her, crossing her path every once in a while. It isn't two becomes one. It is two who respect, complement and love each other just as they are. You should never want to change the person that you love.

As far as Mr. "Needs to date a Thirty Something in his 70's" - you're really missing the boat. Somehow I think the gal you left behind is going to have a smashing life.

My Kid...

mom... Mom... MUUUUUUM...

One word I hear constantly. It's bittersweet - a love hate relationship with my own very identity. But also my new favorite word because it has enveloped my entire being. Most people know me in the "hood" as Kami's mama. This would be because she is the only black child for miles and truly sticks out like a sore thumb. Do I have some stories to tell you about being the white mother of a black child. People's very own curious nature has to make you laugh. One of my favorites is being approached by handsome and often pro-sport athletes asking my daughter, "Whose your daddy?" Or the constant concern of shoppers at the mall wondering aloud, "Child... are you lost?" as she walks by my side. My daughter has inherited (if that's possible) my sense of humor and will kindly say, "Can't you tell that's my mom?"

Kami is off becoming part of the food chain in Jellystone Park - remember Yogi Bear and Booboo? Well - she is staying in the luxury log cabins of one of our nation's finest National Parks and has picked the MOOSE as her animal of study. Yes, that would be the animal with backward bending, sticklike legs that carries a Mac truck frame and a fairly decent mean streak if you don't smile just right. We used to have a pregnant one that would sit in our yard and let me tell you, nothing moved that mother. Best to take cover indoors.

So it has been 24 hours and I miss hearing her scream my call letters. How ridiculous is that? Have I really traded off so much of myself that I can't dismiss thoughts of mommy-dom for four days? Can't I enjoy the silence? Can't I lay alone here without her curled up in my arm? I must say it has been wonderful not having to listen to Nick Jr. or the Disney Channel. She has only a couple of simple requests of me until she returns on Friday. She has entrusted me to care for her fish... and... I have been left with written instructions to log into her Ty Beanie Baby account daily to tell these virtual pets that I love them - (I have been threatened with some sort of punishment if I let them die believing they have never been loved). Opps - me bad - and water her garden. That's an entirely different blog.

It's almost morning and about now she would walk in and say, "G'd morning mama. Help me decide what to wear. Can I have an Eggo? Don't forget the chockie! Can you do my hair? Where did YOU put my coat? Where did YOU put my shoes?"

Finally, she darts out to the car but not without a smoochie and a hug and a great big "I love you!"

And then I reminded why I love being this kid's mom.

Camping!?

Everyone close to the mountains grows up attempting to camp. We all have crates of camping gear. We have garages dedicated to tons of rarely used
outdoor camping gear. As most of our gear was very dear when we bought it, we soon loathe parting with that pair of $250 climbing boots purchased back in 1988, although we are now in our late forties and technical rock climbing is of little interest. The boots still look cool though.
These days, I am highly amused with the amount of money invested in camping gear, as well as nonsensical camping gear they sell to tourists. An example - it is common for people coming to visit the Sawtooths to plan on hiking. And everyone has heard about the leader of the food chain, the Grizzly bear, and it's great affection for human flesh. Apparently, in the eyes of the tourist, small children are considered appetizers. So most of the tourists purchase large cans of Pepper Spray. And they also purchase, for an extra pittance, a snappy nylon holster to store their freshly minted pepper spray on their back pack shoulder strap - always readily available! Then it's off to the park, somewhere heavily frequented by humans and less so, by black and brown bears, and EVEN LESS SO by Grizzlies. At the end of their stay, they now have an expensive canister of mace, laced with pepper, that they simply cannot discard.
Their thought?... maybe it will handily repel muggers and smaller Grizzly bears in New York's Central Park? So they tuck it away in their luggage and attempt to smuggle it onto their departing plane. At this juncture, Homeland Security steps in, confiscates the pepper spray and they grudgingly depart Idaho... never to return. In early December, the fine forces at Homeland Security sell the confiscated crate of pepper spray to Second Hand Sports to recycle the canisters and finance their annual Christmas Party.
Camping - That means you have to sleep on something euphemistically called a pad, on uneven, sloping ground, peppered with rocks and roots. You master the art of the squat in order to relieve yourself or hang your rear over a log and hope a dog doesn't come by to check you out. There is no place to rest your coffee nor read the morning paper. And lugging your refrigerator is an ordeal which means you can only camp as far as your extension cord will allow. It never seems to fail that your camp stove, not fired up for over the four years since you last used it, will fail to fire up, leaving you to your Nescafe al fresco - a nice morning pick-me-up.
So over time, people in Idaho gravitate towards car camping. One of the most prized vehicles to own in Idaho is a VW Vanagon. Herein, a self contained motel room on wheels. Built-in stove, refrigerator & basin. The bed actually has a pad that works and there are drapes, if you chose not to slumber in front of all the other temporary residents in the campground. And, you can heat the thing, extending it's use into the early Spring and late Fall.
Welcome into the mix the evocative picture painted by the guys who fleece rich 'campers' offering the "camping" experience with personal waiters, professional cooks and everyone sleeps in a room with a wood floor, cushy bed and soft, canvas sided walls and roof. Chances are there is a wood burning stove, used when the temperature dips below 70. Changing the picture of camping we all remember from when we were kids.Personally, I do love the adventure of camping and the nostalgia of dragging the boxes out of storage to be reminded of finer times spent with my dad as a youngster. After 6 hours of prep work and 66 times hearing "are we there yet", not to be undone by pouring rain and air mattresses that won't hold air, I am reminded of finer times in my queen size bed, with my fabulous down quilt and a good movie. Three cheers for the travel trailer - it may not only be a way to camp authentically but could be the ticket to my retirement home. I better amp my attitude!