My kind of Hill

     

 
      I just finished watching the Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy movie "Before Midnight."  If you've been a fan favorite like me and journeyed the past 20 years with this dialogue-driven movie from the onset, with "Before Sunrise" while I was in college (1995), followed by "Before Sunset" (2004) a decade later, and now, "Before Midnight" you would be as contemplative as I am now.   In the first movie, the young couple who meet on a train while in Europe and spend the rest of the evening walking and talking are 23-years-old.  I remember how much the movie resonated with me.  It was one you had to sit quietly for to hear all the phrases, the nuances, the meanings.  These two characters Jesse and Celine were the epitome of me and my analytical ravings at that age.  I loved this movie, I ached with the characters in this movie.  It's strange now to watch these same characters, aged and consumed by a few decades of life, worry, work and kids.  And how apropos that Kenny and I choose this third installment of the characters, who are now forty, to watch tonight - just days after making the turn to my forties.

      To be honest, When I saw the big 4 - 0 on a card my mom gave me, it took me by surprise.  The number carried such weight with it. For so long, I've been proud to be older, wiser, full of clearer perception.  Not this time.  I have instead felt, what's that word we throw around - - old. 

But this isn't something I tend to dwell on, at least not in this blog post.  I'll save that for my dear husband, who despite my complaints of wrinkles and gray hair, put it upon himself to create for me the best "turning 40" birthday weekend a girl could ask for.  I keep telling him this, so I'll tell you, I don't deserve his kindness, I really don't.  He put together a 4-star weekend of activity at a super-duper, not our regular Super 8 kind of hotel, with a planned itinerary and all.  I feel like a high school girl bragging about her "best boyfriend ever!"  But brag I will.  The highlight of the birthday was being able to check off one more item from my TTBID (things to do before I die) list that I created when I was in the 8th grade -- "ride in a hot air balloon."  It was amazing for me to be up in the air but not in a stuffy airplane, to be an adventurer but not have to bungie jump from anything scary, to put my safety into the hands of some balloon hobbiest I didn't even know.  Now I want to ride a balloon in every single state. Kenny may not be so glad he opened this basket of worms.  

     Tuesday the 29th came and carried with it such fanfare - an egg and bacon breakfast brought to my room (while I rushed around getting ready for work), a small get-together over my favorite mexican food and margaritas, wonderful friends and their considerate gifts, and kind words that made me cry; I was overwhelmed.  I was so deflated when the clock struck midnight, and that day was over.  Now, I'm just 40 and the anticipation is gone.  T h i s   i s   i t.  This is what it looks like.  I've arrived.  (Though my 50 and 60-year-old friends would say I'm still a young chicken.)  Now I get to see how the other side of the hill looks.  I'm hoping for green pastures, long walks as opposed to tumbling and falling,  and sunsets that slowly fall off the horizon in a splash of pinks and oranges and reds.  Yes, that's it. Oh, and lots of hot air balloons.  That's my kind of hill. That's my 40. 

Post balloon ride - followed by a champagne toast, a Balloon certificate, and a kiss