One of Those Freak-Out Ages

It suddenly occurs to me, what with all the birthday coupons from department stores offering a whopping $10 off my next purchase, that I'm about to get older. A lot older. This is a good thing, considering the alternative. But turning 60 is one of those freak-out ages. One of those "how can I be 60?" game-changing moments. Sixty feels like a big bleepin' age. I'm not even 60 yet and a visit to the eye doctor revealed cataracts, but only in both eyes. This explains so much about the blurriness that accompanies me through the day. I'm currently at the "moderate cataract" stage, which means I get to spend gazillions on new lenses for all my glasses -- I have a pair for each mood, doncha know -- and wait a few more years till I reach "severe."  I still remember when my mother turned 60 and her friends threw her a lovely lunch at a restaurant. I felt so young that day, and I was 30. The eldest is about to turn 30, the same age I was when my mother turned 60. Does history repeats itself or what? I still remember when my dad turned 60. My mother threw him a lovely party in the condo. He was so excited he wore a tuxedo. So I imagine it's a good thing that I still remember my parents turning 60. The ol' memory is still fully operational, more or less. Will my sons remember me turning 60? Just between us, I'm going with no. But I'm giving myself a tiny family party, just to keep them in check.