cloud dream  Another year  I will be 55 tomorrow.  Have yet to
adjust to the 50s. The 40s still felt, if not young, at least
pre-middle ages. But 50s butt up against the 60s, which is
Social Security/Medicare territory and no I’m not ready. I know,
I still have 5 years left to kid myself that 50 is the new 30 so
that means that 55 is the new 37.3 or some such. But I know how
quickly time passes now–events from 5 years past still replay in
my brain as if they happened yesterday. One of my fave t-shirts
is a navy blue trad cut with a Santa Barbara crest that I bought
for my Dad 20 years ago at my first writers conference ever.
1993 was 20 years ago. I still remember walking along the beach
and listening to the lectures and surviving the workshops and
receiving validation in the speculative fiction workshop that
yes, I could actually write.  20 years.  It doesn’t matter that
to some folks, I may not look my age. I’m not sure what that
means. This is what 55 looks like. There are lines that weren’t
there a few ye