A Pentecost Birthday

The Holy Spirit descends on the disciples of Jesus Christ
after the Resurrection.
[Pentecost image from the Hammerfest Church, Norway.]

In The Netherlands there are 3 national holidays that are 2 days each:  Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost (Pinksteren in Dutch).  For each it's important that you distinguish which day you're talking about.  The 2nd Christmas day would be 26 December, for instance. Today is the 2nd Pentecost day, which is always Monday...not Sunday, and because it's a national holiday, Astrid is off work.

It's also my 66th birthday.  How many of us get to post here at V&V on our birthday AND on a holiday!  WooHoo.

Here's the thing:  I've never ever minded any of my birthday numbers.  The ones ending in zero and five were always the best milestones, especially last year's when I became an official senior citizen.  All those discounts, remember?

In fact, I especially anticipated my 50s and 60s.  I know, weird.  But so many women I esteemed were that age and I aspired to be like them.  It was like the numbers were magic.  They would bring sage and wise gifts, right?  Automatically, of course.

Now that they're almost gone and I'm staring down the barrel at 70...gulp...I told Astrid I'm now closer to 70 than to 60 and that feels, yup, weird.  I've never felt that way about a birthday number before.  Brother Nelson, the oldest of us 8 kids, will turn 70 in January.  Sister Susan two years later.  And then a year later, 2015, moi.  The whole tribe is following suit, with sister Ruth bringing up the rear in 2026.

Oh, and by the way, I've had 10 Friday the 13th birthdays thus far, all good, which is why I'm not superstitious.  My favorite was when I turned 24 in the foothills of the Peruvian Andes and walked by myself 1-1/2 hours through the jungle to the airstrip to pick up our weekly mail.  I had exactly 24 pieces of mail, 3 from my husband-to-be at that time.

And listen to this:  my next Friday the 13th is in 2014, the day I turn 69.  My last year in the 60s.  HA!  Remember, I'm not superstitious!

Don't get me wrong.  I still feel pretty darn-tootin' proud of 66.  Sixty-six.  I like the sound of it.  66.  What a sexy number, don't you think?  [No, not 666, in case someone has a warped sense of humor.  This is a PENTECOST birthday!]

I know what you're thinking:  we're as young as we feel.  Exactly.  That's my point.  As I see 70 around the corner, I suddenly feel 'the number' for the first time in my life.  Did I mention weird?

Remember Route 66 ?  She ain't what she used to be either (have you seen it lately?) but she sure covered a lot of mileage in her day, originally from Chicago to Los Angeles:  2,448 miles (3,940 km) to be exact.  At my rate, based on all our photo hunts and travels, Astrid and I will easily cover that this year alone.

So when I look at it that way, I suddenly feel hot-to-trot.  Sixty-six and a holiday to celebrate it.  I feel 'descended upon' and very blessed.