48

I've spent most of a day now, being 48. Let me tell you what it means, and doesn't.

1. I don't feel more than 22, and never will. Part of that is the decision to not settle down and have a family (yes, it was a decision), but a big part of it is just living me living the way I want to.

2. Old really is in the mind  48 isn't old. Or 60. 80. Do what you want.

3. If I want to be alone on my birthday, it's not a failure of parties. I like it.

That's it for the moment. Happy birthday to me.

Around the yard, pretending that I like snow

Had the camera out yesterday in Dad's yard. As much as most of my, like pretty much everyone else's, picture-taking is by phone these days, there's nothing that compares to the feel, sound, and effect of an actual SLR. Or dSLR now, because very few of us putterers can afford the expense and bother of film. Even if I do have a really nice film camera.

Anyway.

We've had a lot of fog lately, and that led to a bunch of frosty branches. Hey, as much as I hate winter and cold, I can make myself like frost flowers. Here's a bit of what was out there.

Frozen tarragon

I like the clumpy way that snow makes patterns on branches sometimes.

More clumps, this time on cotoneaster.

Frosted Blue Spruce

Icicles on honeysuckle

This isn't frozen or in the yard. It's Tom in a duffel bag.

In the interests of equal time, Bob in a cat house.

Knowing me, that's probably it for at least another month. Ah well, at least the blog is semi-used occasionally.