Five. Two. Fifty-two. 52. Five decades and two years.

Now I'm 52.  A new number!  Bright and shiny.  Barely blemished it is so brand new.  So far, 52 has been waking up at 7 in a ball of dog fur.  It has been coffee at the 'Bean with Mer.  It has been Weatherspoon Art Gallery with the FYE class and Maia, lunch with Maia and writing time here at the 'bux.  It has already been happy birthday singing from my son, my friend, well wishes from Olivia in NJ, and loads of Facebook messages.  One of the FYE students asked "how does it feel?" to which I replied, "it feels like a big number."  But you know, I wish I'd said "it feels great"  because it does.  It feels great.  It feels like being afloat on a raft between the christening splash in the water (as I think today about my Mom becoming a Mom, and my grandmother becoming a grandmother...) and whatever waterfalls are ahead.  It's okay.  I'm grateful for this place where I can see.  Yes, I'm here on the shaky impermanence of a raft, but for now it's holding me up and moving me along.  That raft is giving me a pretty good vantage point.  I could get all caught up in guessing how big the waterfalls are going to be, but I have a feeling that would only cause this little raft to rock and roll so much I just might slip into the drink too soon!  I could also wrench my neck around to look back and see where I've been.  Why not around THAT tree?  Why not ride that rapid?    I'm pretty sure all that neck wrenching would toss me off that raft.  Nope, the idea here might be to stay on the raft.  Maybe I could even enjoy the raft and the ride.  I can groove it!  Feel it!  Ride it!  It'll be okay!  I've got to go where the river leads but I can also paddle or not, turn or not, stop or not, look around or not.  It's my raft.  Not bad for five decades.