Oh, it's time to start livin', time to take a little from the world we're given...*

*time to take time, 'cuz Spring will turn to Fall, in just no time at all. (From the musical Pippin).

I just finished celebrating my 44th birthday, which unexpectedly inspired a whole dumpster-sized bagful  of mixed emotions. On the one hand, I was thrilled to be leaving the actual number 43 behind. Why, you ask? It's a prime number, and I just don't trust them. (They're like...the lonely, friendless outcasts of the Integer World. At least to us Math Nerds.) And once I got over my 40s-Freakout a few years ago, I made peace with my age. After all, I'm still young enough to not have slowed down noticeably yet--except that in my more youthful past, a birthday might have been commemorated by an All-Night-Margarita-Fest in some swanky bar, and nowadays it is more likely to be marked by a delicious, week-long Sugar Extravaganza (this is in no way a bad thing...Cupcake Coma beats Hangover any day!) Yeah, my knees are definitely creakier than they were in their 20s, and I appreciate (and require!) my sleep a whole lot more with each passing year, but overall, 44 doesn't feel "old" at all to me now that I've arrived here safely.

Then, Husband came home from work having his own mini-age-crisis. Seems he'd glanced at some Actuarial Tables (don't ask me why...a little light reading at lunchtime? water cooler conversation? what goes on in 9-5 Corporate Land is an ongoing mystery to me), and discovered that his projected Life Expectancy is: 77. Wow. That doesn't seem very...optimistic. So he was a bit spooked about the fact that "Oh my gosh, I'm not just Middle Aged, but actually past the midpoint of my life!" Since he's very much NOT a dramatic, over-reactive person (like who? oh yeah, me), this was quite an emotional outburst for him. Before he dropped everything to go buy a convertible or get a Born to Run tattoo, I calmly, rationally pointed out that...he was being an idiot. No, no, I mean I reminded him that as a physically-fit, appropriate-weight, non-smoking, healthy-eating male, he would probably live much longer than the generalized "average" which also encompasses every bar-hopping, cheeseburger-chomping, chimney-smoking couch potato born in the same year as him. (He cancelled the order on the Audi Quattro after our little chat. And remains ink-free.)

As we all know, females tend to live longer (at least when their husbands don't go off half-crazy with Midlife Mania), so my magic number according to the chart was: 82. As it is, "taking care of myself" is written into my Daily Agenda, so I plan to continue doing my part to fend off Father Time. Of course, as much as it pains me to admit it, certain things remain out of my control. But barring illness or accident, I might be around for quite a while longer. Which naturally started me pondering...if I am halfway-through my lifespan, what would I like to accomplish in the time remaining? Certain things spring instantly to mind: I want to hike through a South American rainforest, visit the Egyptian pyramids, and go on an African safari, for example (you know, in between grocery shopping, filling the car with gas, and dropping kids off at soccer practice). Then I got stuck. I'm not exactly the thrill-seeking, adrenaline-adventure kind of girl, so things like "skydiving" or "climbing Mt. Everest" don't appeal to me. And although I love learning, I have no desire to, say, perfect the art of French cuisine or study how to paint watercolor landscapes. Hmm...some of my favorite pastimes are traveling, taking pictures, watching baseball games, and writing...so that gives me a brilliant idea: maybe I'll be the one to hop in a sportscar and drive around the country, posting photos and blogs from all 30 Major League Ballparks! Whoo hoo! Midlife Road Trip here I come! (I'll even have a tofu dog for you : )