Today, I turned 115 years old. The sun rose in the east, across the Centre Street bridge like it did yesterday. It was a bit more orange today though and I wondered if the sun was burning the dawn smoke from forest fires kilometres away. The Bow River rippled, barely a foot above the rocks, and even though the dew had not yet lifted off the petals of the tiger lillies I wondered what it would feel like to lay my body in the water–would I float or my old bones catch like a shopping bag, an old rag, in the rocks. But today is a good day and I feel like I am 105 again, when Sally still walked with me or that lady in Paris who forgot my name, but made it to 122. Calgary isn’t what it used to be and sometimes I wonder what they have done to the water.

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And in the eternal words of Scarlett O’Hara, brought to my attention by one Kimmy Beach… a few years ago:

Scarlett: Well, you know, Rhett, money does help, and, of course, I am fond of you. Well, if I said I was madly in love with you, you’d know I was lying.