I turned thirty.  I just keep singing that country song in my head, “remember when… thirty seemed so old… now I know… it’s just a stepping stone.” and then I laugh and laugh at myself… but mostly I know its true.  I feel like thirty is an age where I finally feel comfortable in my own shoes and it feels so very good.  So with this knowledge, and no desire whatsoever to do anything but precisely what pleased me, I plotted out a fantastic weekend for myself.  I made plans to go out for a drink and a chocolate cake with a sweet new friend.  I woke up in the morning the day after, and treated myself to a coffee and some knitting overlooking the painted scenery below me.  I drove out to a wool festival with my Vermont soul sister leaf peeping all the way.  I learned to use a drop spindle.  I ate maple creamies and lamb burgers and drank root beer.  I came home “late” and tucked in my boys.  I enjoyed cupcakes made by my sweetheart, the first baked good ever in his repertoire.  And oh my sour cream frosting goodness, he succeeded.   Miles informed me the next morning while on another apple picking expedition, “Mama, everybody helped make the cupcakes… but I did most of it”.  Yes, my little baker, I am sure you did.  I finished things off by going on a mushroom walk with my local co-op and indulging in the sautéed buttery goodness afterwards…

Yes, I believe I started this decade off on the right foot…

I didn’t take many pictures, but I will remember it all.  I am so glad to be here, where I am.  I have no regrets.  Thirty is short enough to know something about something, but long enough to know that there is so much more to it anyways.  I am starting to understand that and it feels wise to be so clear.  To know precisely that you have so much to learn.  To know that when you look at someone the teenage irrational judgement has melted away, to know that you have to take what you can get, to be glad to have gone around the earth this many times.  I feel like I should be dizzy.