Somewhere in the Middle

Unloaded my car yesterday. All by myself. It took three of us a couple of hours to pack it, six days and eleven states ago. Took me the better part of the day to unpack. Lots of hauling of lots of boxes of stuff and bags of clothes and armfuls of art up two full flights of stairs from the garage and into my new room. I'm still astounded at how much I was able to fit in that car!

Casey in California’s home is beautiful. Quiet. Comfortable. And I have a real kitchen again! I’ve cooked a proper breakfast (Julia Child’s scrambled eggs with tomato and kale thrown in) two mornings in a row. On a gas stove! Heaven. But even with my hearty protein/fat breakfast, I’m feeling a little run down today. Achy and headachy. Generally blech. It got me to thinking about that middle-aged part of my blog equation. When exactly is someone middle aged? My sister was middle aged at 23, my brother at 27. They just didn’t know it. Even my Dad, who lived what people would call a long and happy life, was middle aged at 38. 38! Is there some magic number? Is it when you feel middle aged? I don’t feel middle aged. I feel like a kid most of time. I guess that’s good. It’s probably what allowed me to pick up my life, and move it to California.  I’d rather feel like a badass most of the time, though. I might have been middle aged ten years ago, or yesterday, or tomorrow, or next year. Okay, probably not next year. But just like my miserable Missouri mood was completely within my power to change, so is this idea, this concept of middle age. Whatever that is. I don’t feel middle aged. Except for when I’ve spent the bulk of a day moving all my crap from one spot to another.

In the midst of this, Casey in California brought me a little bottle of essential oils to rub on my neck and an ice pack. I can hear you now, laughing out loud, saying something like "ha!" she is old, with a winky face. Maybe. But she's feeling better already too :)

"Middle of the Road"