NUMBERS: 63,63,63,63
I've never been very good with them, but what is it about 63? I know that that's how far three of the men in my family--grandfather father, and brother--and an ex-boyfriend made it. My son was 4 when my father died; I was 36. When my brother died, I was 66. More optimistic numbers: My mom made it to 90 this year. And if I make it until tomorrow, I will be 68, even though, for some reason, I always feel like 16. But that can't be true, since this was the year of my 50th high school reunion. What's more, I have a beautiful granddaughter, now 20 months old, and her soon-to-be-born sister is up to about 32 weeks. Math anxiety, moi? Oui, si, yes, I confess. But there's another way of looking at it, which my artist friend expresses in her wispily elegant calligraphy on the cards and beautiful paintings she makes: "Teach us to number our days, That we may get us A heart of wisdom." Impatient ...