Birthday Number 70

I haven't spent a second deciding what I would do or be in my 70th year, but that birthday arrived just the same on June 18. There is something formidable about those birthdays ending in 0. Expectations. The work, transitions of retirement, my first poetry book, all are part of a past decade. Gone. Forgotten.

Seventy could be the beginning of old age. On the other hand, each day we are all older than the day before. Reflecting on age, I believe we are as old as we allow ourselves to be. With plenty of exercise, good food, and lots of interesting projects, the seventies should resemble the sixties and the eighties. Perhaps just a bit more relaxed.

Thank God for good friends and soul sisters. I have been fortunate to belong to several writing groups. My poetry group had a fantastic birthday party for me at our last meeting. Below, a poem written for me fills me with hope and encourages me to go boldly into the next decade. I thought today that if I were to have an eightieth birthday party, it should be poems and readings--wisdom for the next decade.

A Toast to Maryann

First, forget everything you’ve learned
about turning 70,
about black sheep and cracked pots.

Just say “yes” to the glorious anatomy of a simile,
drawing friends as little circles of overlapping similarities.

Together, we drink from the delicate soup of your whimsy,
served with a sly wink,
savoring the morsels that nourish our being.

A toast to you, Maryann;
to the cook who follows no recipe,
but throwing mysterious spices into the pot
somehow transforms everyday ingredients, and
serves up such tasty, unexpected delights
to us, your hungry guests.

Suzanne Frey
June, 2010


Here is a poem written by another dear friend. Very clever:

Wow! With Today's birthday, Maryann becomes seventy.
Now some would say, these are years a-plenty,
But I say, "No," she deserves much more.
She should still brighten this world at one hundred-four.

Alan Axtell. (I hope he is right!)