Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Joie de Vivre

A Rose is a Rose is a Rose. 

Well, our Rose, anyway. She is nothing if not consistent. Her role in the family has always been Class Clown. The ol' girl just turned eleven--and look! Four days later, she's still celebrating.

I went online to find a dog years calculator--it's not a straight "seven per," you understand. According to this one, Rose is somewhere between 65 and 72 on the human timeline. Then again... what does that actually mean? 

My mom, who lived her whole life in moderation, shrugged out of her mortal coil at a mere 63 years of age. While my father, a recovering alcoholic / smoker, is still planting and harvesting his own lunch at 85.

Even Dad, however, has never been spotted rolling around on his back, in a swirl of his own hair, chewing on a bone. Has Rose discovered the fountain of youth? Wait. It's not that muddy puddle out in the driveway, is it?

Anyway, Happy Birthday, sweet Rose. 

I'm going to conduct an experiment today. I will try to make "happy" my reaction to whatever the next 24 hours bring. 

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Be engaged, but be nice.