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Aging Acumen?

When I was making wedding plans (I mean the most recent wedding), Danny typed to me, “On such an extraordinary occasion I believe I must wear a tuxedo.”
That may be my favorite sentence ever.
         Therefore, let me say, “Upon the impending celebration of my birth, I am glad to be alive and I shall wear a shade of gray,” at least as far as my hair is concerned.
         Let me just throw out that famous question at the same time: At what point shall I wear purple with a red hat that doesn’t go?
         I feel like my time is now.
         My hairdresser Seniel is a great influence. She waves her scissors about like Johnny Depp and says, “I know what to do. Let’s do a little something…” I told her today that my birthday is tomorrow and if she had a tattoo parlor next door, I would have stopped by there on my way home from getting my haircut. I think a little “JCDC” for James, Cate, Dan, and Chris penned on my wrist or ankle (cankle) is in order on this “extraordinary occasion.”
         The older I get, the more freedom I feel. And the more I wish I would’ve figured this out decades ago. And the more I wonder why didn’t I?
         Ah, there are so many things my friends, that no one tells us.
         Number one in my book is: Never, ever care about what other people think when it comes to finding your happiness. Okay, unless you’re Hitler or something.
         Number two: Wear whatever the hell you want.
         Number three: Never listen to country music unless it was popular before 1960.
         Number four: Always order guacamole with your nachos. Life is too damn short to do otherwise and you know you want it.
         Number five: Take time to write down the recipe for any cake your aunt used to make.
         Number six: Kiss your husband (or partner) for no reason, especially if he/she appears to be slightly annoyed.
         Number seven: Meet your neighbors. Just walk over and do it. My husband does this and I am jealous every time he does it.
         Number eight: Love your children no matter what choices they make.
         Number nine: Remember that your parents did the best they could with what they had . . . and hope that your children think the same of you.
         Number ten: Find your Zen, your God, your Mojo, whoever, whatever it is that means your quiet place.
         That’s what I got for you on this day before my 54th birthday. God knows I hope I can share some more old lady wisdom next year.

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