Today I am celebrating 70 years of living. It is my birthday – and I am having trouble getting my mind around being alive for 70 years. Maybe it is because I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count that high. Maybe it is because getting old is so very complex. In any case I have found that I am now attracted to roses in the fullness of their maturity whereas the me of my early years preferred buds with their full potential waiting to unfurl. I am feeling giddy-excited about arriving at what I consider a mature old age. Wow!

JB and I talk about death a lot – we are trying to figure out how to prepare for a life without each other. We know it will be painful and I am hoping he dies first because I can’t fathom leaving him behind to mourn. I worry…