As the calendar changed from March to April, life’s pace picked up and I have been running ever since, trying to keep up. I feel like I have been on auto-pilot for the better part of three months, and am pleading for some much-needed down time. It wasn’t just a jam-packed schedule that found me feeling squeezed. I have been experiencing an almost claustrophobic feeling living in my suburban neighborhood. Suddenly, the five feet or so that separates my property from my neighbors on the right and left, feels confining, restrictive-not unlike the image of a 13-foot boa constrictor wrapped around my neck. I feel sandwiched in between two not-so-positive energy forces, and feel my own life energies draining. And, if that were not enough, I also have two acquaintances who have individually appointed me their own personal Dr. Phil. (I guess that would be “Dr. Phyllis”.) They phone me at all hours with their tales of woe created from their self-induced dramas. I feel like all of my invisible boundaries have been invaded. I have been wrung out like an old dish rag.

The pressures induced by the “big squeeze” have left me daydreaming of a home somewhere in the country, nestled in between tall, towering trees, where there are no barking dogs and loud neighbors, and cell phone towers are non-existent.  Just me and the peaceful sounds of nature. A recent change of venue (read:vacation) has buoyed my spirits somewhat, and I do foresee several dates on the calendar with nothing scribbled inside the box. The two damsels-in-distress have refrained from calling, at least for now, and I feel less intruded upon by my neighbors. I am not exactly sure if these recent feelings are the result of stress, perimenopause, old age, or all of the above, however, I do hope that someday I will be writing from my cabin in the woods…….

In one of my very first posts (perhaps even my first post), I wrote about the impending fiftieth birthdays that several of my friends would be celebrating (maybe “dreading” is the more accurate term) this year. I went on to brag that even though I will reach my 49th year in August, I am still just “30-something” in my mind. I hope that no one actually believed that nonsense!

The ever-increasing number of candles on my cake have resulted in many unpleasant and unwanted changes to my anatomy. Beginning at the top, my once perfect vision was gone in the blink of an eye. One day I could read the fine print on the back of a children’s Motrin bottle, and the next day not one letter was legible. I now own several pairs of magnifying glasses, which are stashed in nearly every room in the house. I am certain that very soon, I will be investing in one of those chains that you wear around your neck with a pair of my extra eyes always in reach.

Moving south, I now have developed perpetually chapped lips. This past winter, I experienced what I thought was weather-induced drying out of the lips. Not so! It has been been as hot as 90 degrees and humid here, and I am still applying lip balm daily. I can only surmise that my lips will never regain their youthful self-moisturizing ability, and that I should consider purchasing stock in the manufacturers of Chapstick.

One of the most distressing age-related morphs has occurred to my thighs. In my 30’s, I developed a small amount of cellulite on the back of my thighs, near the top. Fast forward to my early 40’s, and it began to take over every aspect of my thighs-front, back, top, bottom. My exercise regime can no longer stave off the dreaded influx of these unsightly dimples. (Aren’t dimples usually thought of as cute? On one’s cheeks or chin-YES. On one’s thighs-NO!)  I recently caught a glimpse of my thighs up close and personal in a department store dressing room. I immediately realized that these are not  “30-something”  thighs. Wake up, Joan. Your driver’s license, birth certificate, and passport do not lie. You ARE almost 49 years old, and you have the vision, chapped lips, thighs and memory loss to prove it. (More on the memory loss issue another time…..)

Oh well, as my husband used to say, “It’s better to embrace each birthday, because it is better than the alternative.”

Spring has sprung and the race is on.  I live in the Midwest where we do experience distinct seasons. During the months of December, January and February there is a respite from outdoor chores, other than occasional snow shoveling. Life tends to slow down and we retreat inside, where it is toasty and hot chocolate flows freely. Once the calendar flips a page to March, life’s pace may kick up a notch, depending how warm the month is. By the time April appears, complete with its blossoming flowers and frequent rain showers, many evenings and weekends become devoted to the yard gods. The grass begs to be mowed every four to five days (I actually cut it every six or seven), and the landscaping screams for a little spruce-up including dead-heading, fertilizer and a fresh blanket of mulch.There are shrubs to trim, weeds to pull and new garden specimens to purchase and then insert into the ground. My fake clay pots, which have been barren for several months, beg for new flowers to contain and nurture.

I work at a maniacal pace to complete these yearly tasks before THE HEAT SETS IN! I sweat like a man and therefore abhor doing heavy labor once the temps and humidity rise. By the time our city begins to feel like Houston, Texas (where I spent eleven very uncomfortable summers), I am safely tucked inside with the A/C running and a tall glass of iced tea in hand. This year, I will have to brave the stifling air and mow the lawn, however, there just might be a chance that I may escape the bulk of this weekly chore. Junior has been behind the mower a few times now and exclaims that “this is fun!” (I will remind him of that statement once the novelty wears off.) He mows while I run around the yard with our new gas weed-whacker looking like Joanie Depp as Edward Trimmerhands! Together,Team Joan and Son, get the job done in no time. I get a beautifully manicured lawn and Junior learns a valuable lesson in hard work and responsibility. Soon, I should be able to entice him into washing my car.