33

Tomorrow I will turn 33. I am not too sure what to think about it. Things didn't change drastically once I hit 30, after all, I do have those youthful genes which run rampant in our family. So I definitely don't look my age (except my ever-increasing white hair, but who cares). But the more I have pondered it, I am realising that 33 is practically mid thirties, and once you hit that, well, forty isn't THAT far off. Not that forty is bad, but again, I am not too sure what to think about that particular decade of age.

When I am forty, Clare will be fifteen. And in High School. Good Lord. Must not think about it, definitely can't think about that. Having a teenager is such a worrying thought. As if I don't worry enough. But she IS a good girl, what with her wanting to become a nun and all. Let's hope she keeps that mode of thought.

So what will I do on my day of luxury? I am off work for starters. But will have to take Greg into work at 8am. Later I have a meeting at church at 4 o'clock. Greg is working till 4, too. My mother is coming up during the day so I am positive she, myself and Clare will find some sort of trouble to get into.

Last night I decided Reilly needed a grooming. It took nearly two hours. He cannot stand to sit still for grooming of any kind, including nail trimming. Our electric clippers have about had it, so it was difficult to use those and manage to keep him still. At the end of the fiasco I was sitting in a deep pile of dog fur, which I pointed out some very creative folks out there actually spin their dog's fur and knit clothing from it. It's true. I have read accounts of it. Imagine a Reilly Jumper. Well, maybe not. I also had one very shaven Jack Russell by the end of the evening. He is happier now and probably weighs about eight pounds lighter. Since he is a rough-coated Jack, his fur will grow rather long so we like to keep him trimmed. I'd say this is the shortest I have ever trimmed him. He has a nice summer style now.

Aoife just manages to shed her hair all over the place. You'd think at this point she would have bare spots here and there on her body. But that doggie has loads of fur to spare. Smooth-coated Jacks shed far worse than the rough or broken-coated varieties.

I had a strange comment from a visitor today at work. There were two sisters, their husbands and their kids and the grandmother. They were from Barbados perhaps, I am unsure. But they were of African descent. One of the husbands asked about the slaves living on the property and I delved into some information about slavery. Not saying I was all for it by any means, but pointing out the slaves living on Jefferson's property had it far better than other accounts I have read in the past, which have been downright grisly. He made a semi-smart retort about how good could it possibly have been if they were slaves. I made my point based on some references I have read about.

Later on, as the group was examining the lower South Orchard, the same man asked how far it was down there from the garden level on which we stood, for example, could someone jump down there safely. I said perhaps and another member of his family made a comment in reference to that and the same man then proceeded to say "Well I could push her over the edge and find out", then making an indication to me. How bizarre. Was this due to my interpretation that the slaves on that property were treated fairly based on documentation we have? I was by NO MEANS advocating slavery, but you must remember that it was a way of life in the 18th and 19th centuries and the mind set for owning slaves was far different than our modern way of thinking.

I don't know, but suggesting he could push me over the edge of the garden wall just struck me as being quite odd. And a little bit rude.

What a way to end my days and not live to see my 33rd birthday. "Member of Local Museum Staff Pushed Over Garden Wall, Plummeting Sixteen Feet to Her Death".

Happy Birthday indeed.