Tag: birthday

51 is not my Favorite Birthday

On By aftheadIn Meet Afthead, parenting, Rants, travel, Uncategorized, Work1 Comment
Who took this vacation picture? Was someone else here? We’ll never know.

Last year I was on the cusp of my life changing. Sure, I was turning 50, but I was about to take a year off to live my dream and write my first novel. Kamala Harris had jumped into the presidential race and was going to be our first female president. That meant I was going to come back to work inspired about working for a female commander in chief and having ample career opportunities to pick from. The self-improvement goals were numerous. I was going to get fit again and eat better. I was going to spend my daughter’s junior year being present, not be such a bitch at home, spend more time with my folks, and be a better friend. It was going to be glorious.

A year later, I’m feeling kind of (using an out of date gen-z word here) meh. I’m proud of my book, but a smidge disappointed in my early reader’s feedback. Now that I’m done writing, what do I do next? Do I take the terrifying step to polish it and try to publish, write the next book, or just quit knowing that the publishing world is cruel? The country is a hot pile of steaming shit for so many reasons, but personally I have zero future job opportunities: there is no work in electric vehicle charging, climate change, or green careers because Harris didn’t get elected. My ex-colleagues are all fired, quit, soon to be fired, or scared. My network is decimated. During our family summer vacation I refused to let my family take any pictures of me because I look like a chubby bridge troll with a permanent scowl and wiry hairs growing out of my mole. Someday we’ll look back on our nine days together and wonder if I was there. (Honestly, did the semaglutide botox fervor have to hit now? Many of my friends look better than they did in their 20s, but I’m terrified of a med spa injecting stuff into my body and face. Sigh.)

Poor me.

Yes. I know things could be worse. I know people are starving in Gaza. Shit’s about to get real in the United States as support benefits are crumbled by the Big Beautiful Bill. I saw the impact this administration is having even on the privileged as we toured colleges this summer: less emphasis on services, less emphasis on equity, less emphasis on choices, less emphasis on diversity, and the University of Delaware didn’t even mention that President Joe Biden was an alum. Meanwhile, I feel guilty because we are a rich white family so my kid will be okay even if we have to pay more tuition. Heck, she may be better off, because international students aren’t interested in attending school in a country where they might be being swept off the streets by ICE agents. (We toured Tufts right after Rümeysa Öztürk was arrested by a plainclothes agent off the street in Boston. Unsurprisingly, it was the worst tour we’ve been on. They were probably distracted.)

I know I’m a whiney old lady. I have had a year off. I have enjoyed quality time with my family and friends. I have delighted being available for my kid before she goes off to college next year. Having my mom and husband read my book (and enjoy it) has been a highpoint of my life. Financially we are doing okay, even without my year of salary, because somehow the chaos since election day hasn’t impacted our investments – see rich white family note above.

Tomorrow I will suck it up and be grateful again, but today is my birthday. Today I get to be frustrated at myself for my lack of willpower and becoming a dumpy old lady. Today I get to be aggravated because in less than a year I’ve gone from being a very successful career woman, who did things like meet Secretaries of Energy and Transportation and accepted invitations to the White House, to a worthless 51 year old woman. Today I get to be frustrated because there is so much work to do with my book, and my dozen this year (so far) for short stories, writing conferences, and jobs don’t give me any hope that I can write more than drivel, so what’s the point anyway?

Tomorrow I will celebrate my birthday with friends. Next week I will celebrate with my family. Today I miss the hope of turning 50.

A Knit for One Hundred Years 

On By aftheadIn Uncategorized7 Comments

How do you acknowledge 100 years of life?  The invitation clearly said “no gifts” but my fingers itched to make something to celebrate my grandmother-in-law’s birthday.  I wanted to make something soft, useful, bright and bold because she loves red and purple as all 100 year-olds should.

Nothing in my stash seemed right, so I was off to my local yarn shop.  Not only did they have this amazing purple alpaca yarn with bright pink highlights, but they recommended the perfect pattern, Trillian and even had a sample so I could see and hold it: an asymmetrical narrow shawl that could be worn several ways.  It would be pretty, soft, elegant and functional.  Thank goodness for real world yarn shops.

 

I had never knit a shawl before or anything this big on size 3 needles, and time and birthdays wait for no knitter.  It didn’t take me long to realize this was a more involved project than I had anticipated.  The knitting began to take over every moment of my free time and several moments of my not free time.  Soccer practices, conference calls, long drives, and parties all became opportunities to knit.  My husband drove everywhere so I could knit.  I became a public knitter out of desperation.  At the end I used my plane trip to Austin to knit for 2 hours non-stop each way.

 

img_4475
Blurry car knitting

Deadlines are motivating and two days before the big party I cast off my last stitch and wove in the ends.  Blocking opened the lace edge and hid the little snare from my cat’s attempt to drive me absolutely crazy with her disrespect of the knitting.  The day of the party I wrapped up the finished object in tissue and set it in the gift bag.  10,570 stitches to celebrate her life.  It seemed like a big present.  Maybe too big.


Truthfully, I had never knit anything for her before.  My in-laws aren’t crafters, so I had not made things for them, because I never knew if they would be appreciated.   I set my lone gift bag next to a basket overflowing with cards.  Everyone else had followed the rules.  I was so nervous that my hand-cramping gift would be frowned upon that I didn’t ask her to open it.  After she danced, ate, and celebrated with a room full of friends and family I said, “I made you something” as I told her goodbye.  Desperate that my little gift bag not be thrown away or misplaced I also told my father-in-law, and his sister.  I was worried that she wouldn’t like it, but terrified that she’s never see it.

When the phone rang the next evening with her number displayed on the caller id my stomach flipped as I answered the phone.  “Johanna,” she said in her creaky voice, “I love my shawl.  Thank you so much for thinking of me.”  She loved it.  She loved the color.  She said, “I wish it was cold so I could wear it now.”  And just like her grandson – my husband – the thank yous were done and we were off the phone in under five minutes.  Who knew brevity was an inherited trait?

Tomorrow it’s supposed to dip into the 40s.  I hope she wears the shawl.  I like to picture her playing bridge, at choir practice, or doing crosswords at home wrapped up in warm softness made by my hands.  She is 100 in age, but still lives in her own house, does laundry in her basement, and leads an independent life even after being widowed the day I was born.  In the end, my 10,570 stitches are nothing compared to her 36,525 days on this Earth.