#nicola — Public Fediverse posts

66: The Number of the Be—

September is birthday month at Chez Nickel: Kelley first, because she’s the older woman (9 days older, to be precise).

And here’s me, taken just a few days ago, right before our Seattle summer did that abrupt turn from Sunny! to Well, fuck. Now it’s nothing but grey and rain until April. Kelley gets the sunshine for her birthday; I don’t. Hey, who cares? When Kelley smiles at me like that, who needs sunshine?

I’ve taken to always trying to take pictures in direct sunlight because it bleaches away many of the dings and dints, folds and freckles we accumulate as we age. And also I get to wear sunglasses which hide my permanently red eyes. Because 66 is definitely Not Young. People around me tend to get weirdly grumpy when I call myself old, though—why is that? seriously; I am old: about 75% through my life, if I’m lucky—so I’ve started to refer to myself as an Elder, which seems to soothe ruffled feathers.

So, greetings from your 66 year-old elder (except, of course, no doubt some of you reading this are older than me. So, hi there, Old Ones).

66 is not quite enough numerals to be the Number of the Beast, so this year I’ve decided it will be the Year of the Be— Be whatever I want; be me. Just Be.

66: The Number of the Be—

September is birthday month at Chez Nickel: Kelley first, because she’s the older woman (9 days older, to be precise).

And here’s me, taken just a few days ago, right before our Seattle summer did that abrupt turn from Sunny! to Well, fuck. Now it’s nothing but grey and rain until April. Kelley gets the sunshine for her birthday; I don’t. Hey, who cares? When Kelley smiles at me like that, who needs sunshine?

I’ve taken to always trying to take pictures in direct sunlight because it bleaches away many of the dings and dints, folds and freckles we accumulate as we age. And also I get to wear sunglasses which hide my permanently red eyes. Because 66 is definitely Not Young. People around me tend to get weirdly grumpy when I call myself old, though—why is that? seriously; I am old: about 75% through my life, if I’m lucky—so I’ve started to refer to myself as an Elder, which seems to soothe ruffled feathers.

So, greetings from your 66 year-old elder (except, of course, no doubt some of you reading this are older than me. So, hi there, Old Ones).

66 is not quite enough numerals to be the Number of the Beast, so this year I’ve decided it will be the Year of the Be— Be whatever I want; be me. Just Be.