Postcard from Oregon. Growing Old(er).

And yes. That is the author's red wine.

Mom and Dad at the Firehouse Restaurant. 61 years of marriage and counting.  Given the chronic fatigue and exhaustion of the mid-forties that Peter and I experience, it's hard to imagine dumping another 45 years on top of this.  Wow.  Walk in my shoes, I suppose.  Not always done with grace, but always loving their daughter, I thankfully admit. Today, watching my almost thirteen year old sidle into the car while her friends walked away on the date that I had denied her (it is a Monday afternoon, after all), I couldn't help but remember what seventh grade was like for me.  Who knows what is right? All I know for sure, is that all of that confidence that we brought to the parenting of babies and toddlers seems so completely irrelevant today.  I know it all mattered--at least it mattered because now it is the memory and record of who we are and what we did.  I guess I'm just feeling, as I often do, completely humbled by the experience (of life) and outclassed in many ways (by my peers).  So, Mom and Dad, congratulations on making it this far and being able to celebrate the new season's arrival with your family. We're all in your corner, watching you take on this bravest of challenges.