If I had been born in the 19th century, I'd probably have been dead by now. By the turn of the last century I might have been alive but considered quite old and/or lucky. Nowadays I'm late middle age, but feeling old depending on how my legs and feet are feeling. Today, they're feeling around 59, so I guess that's good. I won't be dancing any jigs soon, but then again I never have. Other than occasional mobility issues I'm generally happy and healthy; I still have close relatives from the generation before me so that's pretty extraordinary as far as I'm concerned; I have lots of Facebook friends (and even Google, worryingly, has wished me a happy birthday) and actual real-life friends, including my first husband; I have Robin and his family and friends; and now I have Zed or Zebedee or "kissy-sounds" or whatever he's answering to these days. It's a full and lovely life, and I hope it will become even fuller as I get retirement age (I'm figuring maybe another decade) and fall back on my writing again. Until then, my writing is right here, or occasionally on Facebook, and I thank all of you still out there for reading.