It’s been a couple of months since I’ve written in my blog. No reason, really. I guess not much happened in my life that seemed worth writing about. And isn’t that usually the case? Life. It’s what happens while you’re waiting around for something big. And mine seems to be flying by.

In a couple of weeks, I will turn 54 years old. Wow. Just looking at that number shocks me. How did this happen? Yesterday I was 17. That was the year that I got married-way-too-young. I was 20 when Luke was born and 23 when Amie arrived. I was 27 when I got divorced and 32 when I graduated from Purdue. I was 33 when John and I married and moved to Peoria. I was 38 when I struck gold at Caterpillar and 44 when I became a grandmother for the first time. AND I had a tummy tuck later that same year. I was 45 when I first went to Europe and 50 when we built Wolf Crossing in Morton. These are the milestones of my life.

There are some important things I’ve lost along the way. . .some because of neglect, some due to inconvenience and some just because that’s the way life works.

And while I’ve lost some important things, I’ve kept some unimportant ones. Like a few boxes in the basement John wishes I would part with. And what about the philodendron in my kitchen? It’s origin dates back to my paternal grandfather’s funeral. He died on my birthday 30 years ago when I was pregnant with Amie. Someone–who I also have since lost–sent it to the funeral with my name on it. The plant has been big and small and cut back to a stub more than once. I remember John accidentally dropping it one time and nearly all the roots were broken. He said, “Well, if it’s possible to kill this thing, I just did it.”

Here’s how it looks today.

And so it is. And so let it be. Will I actually buy an apartment in Paris someday? Will I ever again weigh what’s listed on my driver’s license? Will I write that book? Who knows? But life is good and I am happy. So is my philodendron!