Sunday, February 1, 2015

A certain party, a certain age

When I was a small child, my mother often referred to me as "a certain party" in conversations with other adults. It never fooled me, and in fact, for a while I thought it was simply another name I had acquired. My father called me BooBoo; my mother called me A Certain Party.

(I thought "Chattanooga Choo-Choo" had been written partly about me. "There's gonna be a certain party at the station...")

It seems like a good name for a blog that for a time, anyway, will remain somewhat on the down low.

I really wanted "A woman of certain age" or at least, "A certain age," but not surprisingly, those names were taken.

Because life looks different from this age, when a career and its sometimes annoying, sometimes exhilarating accouterments and frustrations are behind me. I know myself better, of course, but I'm still learning, still growing. Yet I am largely invisible to the world.

Some women of my certain age resent that. I like it. It allows me a certain freedom for change and experimentation.

Who am I? Join me as I try to figure that one out...