Today marks my 70th birthday. Out of curiosity, I googled, “Gifts for Turning 70” on Amazon, and among mugs, hats, blankets, etc. inscribed with some version of, “I’m not 70. I’m 18 with 52 years experience,” was the Retro Candy Yum — 1953: “70th Birthday Gift Box Nostalgic Retro Candy Mix from Childhood for 70 Year Old Man or Woman Born 1953.” As many of you know, I have the taste buds of a 7-year-old and was disappointed that two of my very favorite candies: Smarties and SweeTARTS were not among the gift box mix. No worries, however, as I can now afford to buy both in bulk and store them among all things artful on my book shelf.
Speaking of 7-year-olds, I became a kid again the morning of May 28 when, at the beginning of a morning sunrise walk at 5 a.m., I encountered a stunning display of firefly fireworks. The photo at the top of this post and the following photo don’t begin to capture the magic of the moment:
As it turned out, those fireflies lit the way for what would be an amazingly beautiful morning.
The morning of May 28 was indeed a morning to “lift your hat to,” as Emily Dickinson would say about the word, “phosphorescence.”
Speaking of emitting light, I also out of curiosity googled, “Poems about Turning 70” and came across the poem, “Becoming Seventy” by Jo Harjo, the former poet laureate of the United States. Harjo wrote the poem for the 70th birthday of her close friend, the poet Marilyn Kallet. The poem, “Becoming Seventy,” is quite long and took me several reads. A New Yorker reviewer (8/29/19) saw in this poem particularly its last line, “unbridled potential for the poetic — in everything, even in ourselves. In that fact is beauty, and perhaps redemption. All memory bends to fit, Harjo writes. We become poems.”
Speaking of becoming poems, I then googled “Poems + Marilyn Kallet” and came across the poem, “Fireflies,” an example of finding beauty and redemption in poetry:
In the dry summer field at nightfall,
fireflies rise like sparks.
Imagine the presence of ghosts
flickering, the ghosts of young friends,
your father nearest in the distance.
This time they carry no sorrow,
no remorse, their presence is so light.
Childhood comes to you,
memories of your street in lamplight,
holding those last moments before bed,
capturing lightning-bugs,
with a blossom of the hand
letting them go. Lightness returns,
an airy motion over the ground
you remember from Ring Around the Rosie.
If you stay, the fireflies become fireflies
again, not part of your stories,
as unaware of you as sleep, being
beautiful and quiet all around you.
“Imagine the presence of ghosts,” “your father nearest in the distance,” “childhood comes to you,” “being beautiful and quiet all around you.”
I shall hold these lines close as I continue onward becoming seventy, becoming a poem.
I am posting this comment from a wheat field close to 6:00 a.m. Complete cloud cover.🙁
Sharon, Happy Birthday today! I loved seeing your heart through the fireflies and the poetry! Elaine
Thank you, Elaine! Much love to you!❤️🙏
I love how you embrace the mystery of being human, of aging, of turning 70–all the beauty and all the heartbreak. You are such a wise guide for us all. I love you.
I wouldn’t be turning 70 without you, Charlotte. I love you to the sunrise and back. xoxo
I love your insight – so beautifully written. I’m hitting 75 this year and am in the midst of writing a requiem to my younger self
Thanks for taking a moment to read this post, Ellen. I LOVE the idea of writing a requiem to your younger self to honor your 75th. Brilliant! I just may lift that idea in five years. xoxo
You inspire me every time you post.
Happy Birthday a CB nd enjoy your new decade ❤️
(I’m looking at 70 next year!)
Thanks so much, Carol, for taking a moment to read this post and to send birthday wishes. xoxo
(And darlin’ — you do NOT look like you are turning 70 next year. No. Way.)
The 18 yrs with 52 yrs of experience seems to have found her writing stride and introspection. Happy Birthday!
Thanks, sweet Adrienne. You put “happy” into most everything in my life. Also creative inspiration which is priceless. xoxo
Sharon, thank you for this wonderful gift. Having recently reached 79, I found your insights very reassuring and encouraging. Your poetry summation is really beautiful. I am re-playing my memories of watching, catching, and releasing bottles of lightening bugs back before and in the 50’s. It leaves me lit by an enlightened glow. Thanks, so much. Happy Birthday. Love, David
Sweet David — thank you for reading this and feeling like a kid again. Also, for sharing that after reading this post, you were lit by an enlightened glow — which is no doubt the most beautiful (and safest) way to be lit. xoxo
A poem of so many stanzas! That has truly been your life. And the stanzas will continue, lighting the way for so many of us, like those precious fireflies!
Love this piece–sweet, funny, all so very, very YOU!
Happy Birthday, dear one!
Thank you, thank you, thank you, Carol — for your unceasing and actually energetic (seriously, it feels that way to me) support of my wackiness and creativity in all of its forms. So much love back to you.
Happy Birthday, dear friend! May the 70s be a decade filled with light!
Thanks for sharing the beauty of your photos, poetry and insight with all of us to celebrate the day. You have given US a gift!
Beth — you ARE the light. Thank you. Love you so much.
“… Lightness returns, an airy motion over the ground”
May light always return to you, dear friend… just as you bring light to others! Big hugs! Jamie
Oh, sweet Jamie. Your wish for light for me means so much as I begin another decade.😘❤️🙏
This is such a lovely reflection, visually and emotionally. Thank you, Sharon, for being who you are! ❤️
Oh, Beth, Beth, Beth. We’ve been on a long journey through life, haven’t we? And each one of us has become the poem we were created to be.
It means a lot that you read this post and took a moment to comment. Thank you. xoxo