Kage Baker, were she still here, would be teasing me about my advanced age tonight, after making sure I had as close to a perfect meal as was possible. She always felt feasts were an absolutely vital part of all personal holidays.

Today is my birthday – I am 70 years old today, and have crossed over the last barrier between maturity and cronehood. Yes, I am a crone for certain sure: old, much crankier than I was at 20 or 30 or 40 – but much wiser, too. Which is no guarantee in old age; I’ve know lots of elderly idiots. Also, as I sit here on a fine summer evening cursing the scofflaws setting off illegal fireworks outside, I am happily replete with barbecued tritip (Santa Maria style, yum yum) and roasted corn on the cob. Kimberly, too, believes in feasts for personal holidays, and has been plying me with lovely snacks and tidbits all day.

And I have not been resisting at all. Having reached the advanced age of 3 score and 10 years, I am feeling that most of my obligations to behave myself have withered and dropped by the wayside. I’ve been a pretty good girl for the last seven decades, and now – well, I just don’t really care any more. If I want ice cream for breakfast – it’s beginning to get hot now – I’ll do it. Fruit plate and fish sticks for dinner? Bring it on! I could be spending this evening watching CNN and MSNBC, honing my personal understanding of the cluster f*** that is our Federal government – instead, even as I type this missive to you, Dear Readers, I am watching The Unexplained, where the still-delightful William Shatner holds forth on high weirdness.

Right now, he is segueing between chupacabra and the infamous Moth Man of Mount Pleasant WV. Believe me, Mr. Shatner’s delicate air of complete disbelief is just as hilarious as when, in Captain Kirk mode, he inquired: “Why does God need a star ship?” I recommend the show for its splendid confluence of real oddities and gentle scenery chewing by Mr. Shatner.

Oooh, next up are Mongolian Death Worms! Kage loved this stuff, too – she said it was full of wonderful suggestions for stories

Kimberly asked me tonight how it felt, to be 70 years old. I had to admit, I can’t really get a grasp on it. I’ve been watching it approach for several months now, like an unusual cloud on the horizon. Now that it’s here, I don’t actually feel any different than I have for any other of the long line of birthdays behind me. Physically, alas, I am a wreck. I’ve been a wreck on other birthdays, though – indeed, on some of them I was uncertain I’d ever make it to another birthday at all. But, you know, one staggers on and the years just roll on by automatically. Whatever changes accrue, have done so slowly and gradually – so I don’t really feel any different than I did at 20,

Although … on my 20th birthday, I did run down two long blocks of Los Feliz Boulevard, climbed into the Mulholland Fountain at Los Feliz and Riverside, and danced in the jets of water and the coloured spotlights that illuminated the fountain. Kage stood by the fountain and laughed and laughed, warning me not slip or else the dates on my tombstone would match. And that would be gauche, don’t you know.

Other birthdays had similar insanities. They are a delight to remember. On the other hand, I’ve had plenty of quiet ones as well, where I feasted until I was semi-comatose and retired to rest at home for the remainder of the night. And God He knows, I’m not doing anything particularly mad tonight, either. It’s just that I am, yes, reallio trullio, 70 years old. Which is just about as weird as I hope to ever get, Dear Readers. This is fantasy enough for me, or maybe it’s science fiction – it’s taken cutting edge surgery (ha ha) to get me this far still breathing.

But as I am still on life, I intend to cling to my superannuated existence with both palsied hands. While I, personally, am not happening very much right now, there are millions of other fascinating things going on. I want to see humans return to the Moon. I’d like to see a few more deadly diseases defeated and rendered extinct. I’ve never tasted a bread fruit, or eaten enough caviar, and I am still waiting for George R.R. Martin to finally finish A Game of Thrones as a blasted book. And, oh, there are so many strange and wondrous things I want to experience before I die!

I am also not ruling out the possibility that some geriatric miracle will occur, and I can be inoculated against death at the youthful age of 90. After all, my hair is hardly even grey yet!