Sixty is the new fifty

Michael turned 60 last weekend. He insisted that I not make a big fuss, so he opened a few gifts at home and we had deli sandwiches at the kitchen table, and a lemon cake from Eastside Marketplace.

Sixty!!!! The major birthdays have never given me pause until now. I didn't agonize over 40 when each of us reached that milestone in turn, and even 50 wasn't especially remarkable. To me, 50 felt more like 40, whatever that means. But even though many of Michael's friends beat him to the big six-oh, and I don't regard them as suddenly wizened or decrepit, I have to admit that this particular birthday evokes a shiver. The word "sixty" seems to hiss with sinister mortality, "You're getting olllllllld. You will diiiie."

That being said, Michael seems as vigorous and unflappable as ever. I think he looks great, too. Don't you?


Michael reading a birthday card on his big day.


Daisy celebrates by doing the gator.