I own a beautiful pair of mukluks. It has to be really cold and dry to wear them like it is now in Milwaukee – 5 degrees – because they are ridiculously warm and too beautiful to risk getting wet. They are a bit much but I love them. I wish I had a fur coat. And a fur hat. Like Lara. I’ve shed political correctness, obviously.
It is wise to hang around with women who are more badass than you think you are. I’ve spent years thinking I was a big smarty pants but now I’m hanging around with women who, as we used to say, can fry it up in a pan and I am in a pretty constant state of awe. Street Angels are some fearless chicks. I aspire.
I did at least one thing this week that I never thought I would do, something I thought only other people would have to do. But I seemed to have lived through it, confirming again Joan Baez’ lyric, “There but for fortune may go you or I.” And, looking back on this week, I thank God for the privilege of having lived it.
The sweetest words I read this week was “The soup was divine.” I made chicken noodle soup from scratch yesterday for the Street Angels outreach folks to give to homeless folks. Today I got a screenshot of a text message with this sentence from one of the recipients and I thought ‘just bury me with this chicken soup.’ My work here is done.
If you think when you hit 70 you will be all cool with your mission and purpose and the meaning of life and just settling in for the long coaster ride to the finish line, you’re probably wrong. I’m here to tell you that the identity crisis business lasts forever. Is it a bummer? I don’t know. Maybe not. The anxiety and questioning keep you alert.