For my 60th birthday (today!) I soaked in a tub of weightlessness. Floating on what felt like a heated cloud of jiggling jello, I had a cold cloth on my forehead and someone was massaging my feet. I had dinner with a Scottish man who was at John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s Bed-in for Peace, and breakfast with a renowned golf course architect and his wife. I sipped a St. Bernardus beer on tap in a pub with titled glasses that looked like they were falling over and tasted skate wing for the first time.
For my 60th birthday I stayed in a room with aboriginal art and a vase of pink orchids. I met a lovely woman from France and another from Switzerland. I met my daughter-in-law’s sister’s husband’s brother, a couple of fellow local writers, the editor of Blue Ridge Country Magazine, and a reporter from the Chicago Tribune who gave me a pen.
At nearly 3,000 feet above sea level, I wrote in my notebook by a roaring fire, blew out a single blue candle on a carrot cake cupcake made my by favorite baker, and opened a present wrapped in bluebird of happiness paper. I looked out onto mountain views covered in rolling mist, and might have seen galaxies and quasars from a telescope in an observatory that looks like a silo if it hadn’t been so foggy last night. Joe might have played golf, but because it was raining he took a rain check.
There is no rain check for turning 60.
Post notes: All this happened at Primland Resort, off the Blue Ridge Parkway in the next county over from Floyd, where I was invited to cover a story on their new spa. This is the backstage story teaser. The second photo is of the dry float soft pack I tried. Hopefully I’ll catch my breath soon. Stay tuned!