It was no fun. I think I expected some fun. I have learned that I think I'm opting out of birthday celebrations for some time to come.

And I ask your forgiveness and indulgence here, as I'm aware this might end up sounding very whiny. But I sorta kinda need to talk about this, if you don't mind.

I have never had a problem with the reality of my age. I have never pretended, as women often used to do, to be younger than I am, to deny I'm aging. My generation changed many things, and one, I think, was that issue. Yeah, yeah, we didn't trust anyone over thirty, but come on, honestly? That was one guy, one time. To varying degrees, we trusted Dr. Spock and William Sloan Coffin, Betty Friedan, Shirley Chisholm, the Berrigans, William Kuntsler, Bella Abzug.

Both Stu and I have heard, often, that we don't look our ages. I think that is so. Yeah, I color my hair, somewhat because I always found my brown hair to be so, well, hair-colored. I haven't done it to hide graying hair. And yes, as a birthday gift to myself, I put the purple streak back in.

I do have trouble thinking of myself as 60. That's a very responsible age and I have often thought that I lack some of the responsible genes you get with certain acts of growing up. Kids, mortgages, careers, minivans. On the other hand, I've dealt with some hard stuff. I've lived with chronic pain most of my adult life. I've had to stop working due to baffling medical conditions well before I was ready to stop. I've been cutting edge broke-to-poor-to-just-getting-by most of my life. In the last few years, I lost my mother, to whom I was very close, and the love of my life had a stroke, from which he is still recovering.

I am proud that I've survived, relatively intact, after 40 some years of serious orthopedic problems that have become severe orthopedic problems, baffling orthopedic problems and chronic pain, treated mostly by serious drugs. And I function. I've gotten a Master's degree, moved cross country a couple of times. I've written a couple hundred book reviews, worked on dozens of genre conventions, chaired two conventions. I worked from the time I was 14 years old until I had to quit going on 20 years now. I've written articles for fanzines and program books, newsletters and more. I spent years, after I stopped working for pay volunteering at a hospital and for a program that serves battered women and their children. Not bad.

So March 9 loomed, my 60th birthday. And it sort of sucked. Please don't get me wrong. I did read and appreciate every damn message on Facebook. I loved the phone call from Pat Stern, my mother's oldest and truest friend from, well, forever. They were born six months apart, and never lost touch. Pat, whom my sister and I refer to as our cousin, has taken on calling me on many of those days when mom would have called me.

That was part of the suckage of my birthday: that my mother wasn't here for it. I hadn't realized how much I counted on her being around when I hit 60, but she died in January of 2011.

Most of the celebration aspects of the birthday were things I set up myself. I went to the salon and got my purple streak back (I last had done this when I was turning 39). Which was nice, but there was no one to see it. I bought myself a ticket to a women's college basketball game - two game actually and got to see the best college player in the country. Which was nice, but lonely. I received money from one sweet friend and a gift from another. I had already received a present from another friend a week early. Which was nice, but... I actually cancelled some plans because I was way too concerned that I would catch a bug from someone and give it to Stu. And there were a few other delays or things that might have happened, but didn't. I would have really appreciated them happening. And I wish to hell that it did not matter.

I have continued to indulge myself, in part telling myself that Mom would have or that Stu would have bought me these things that I'm buying. I still need to make a coupe of donations to causes that matter big to me. I've purchased some jewelry. I've ordered some stunning dollhouse miniatures in the style of Charles Rennie Mackintosh. And finally, the other day, I bought a piece of artwork that I have wanted, oh, let's see, since I first saw it in the 1970s? And I shall take great joy in all these things. I didn't buy just to spend, I bought things that I was finally able to afford.

But, but, but...my birthday dinner was junk food at the arena. There were no real surprises, and I guess I was hoping for them. I don't know why it seems to matter so much.

I had wanted a fuss. It is ridiculous to care about this, I know. And the fuss would have had to come from me, and I might be whiny but I'm not that spoiled. I was not about to create my own fuss. Stu was unable to arrange anything and of course that pretty much killed it right there. So why can't I stop digging at it, huh?

I think I'll spend the next 11 months trying really hard not to give a rap any longer about this.

Thank you for your patience with me. Thanks for reading this to the end. If you did.