"Lurker"  such a dreadful sounding word.  I certainly
don't want to be considered one of those, so here
goes:

I'm forty! (Ouch, wince, groan) My delightful other
half informs me gleefully that my life is half over. I
can't print my response to that because profanity
doesn't belong among you nice people. The worst thing
about being forty is all the stupid, dumb and
completely thoughtless actions I committed in my early
twenties have come back to haunt me with a vengeance.
The swim team mishaps, the equestrian errors, under
the influence of mind altering contaminants (alcohol,
I was never into illegal substances), the dares; one
cliff diving episode springs to mind . . . any ways,
they've all come home to roost. Aches, pains and
twinges. Did I actually, successfully, go into labour
and survive, four times? 

Ain't self-pity grand? 

Know what's great about being forty? I can smile (call
it perma-grin) when my daughters inform me that
they're never going to have any children or get
married and all the other wonderful vows the under
sixteen make themselves. I'm comfortable with who I
am, tend to speak my mind and I definitely don't care
what Mrs. Grundy says about me anymore. I thumb my
nose at Mrs. Grundy. I've learned the fine art of
compromise (snort, chortle, chuckle) . . . not bloody
likely. 

Know what else is great about being forty? My children
are all in school now. No more diapers, no more lonely
midnight vigils with a wakeful baby . . . yeah, I can
hardly wait until those self-proclaimed,
never-get-married-and-have-children daughters, eat
their words. Grandbabies will be neat, but I can wait.
I want my girls to get the best education they can. I
want to insure that they don't miss out on
opportunities because of short-sightedness or lack of
encouragement. The world can be a hard, cruel place
and a profession is a great buffer between you and the
wolf at the door. 

Ummmm, let's see, what else can I say?  Hmmm.  I like
to read . . . a lot.

Favourite authors?

Duh, David Brin, for one.  Catherine Asaro, Ray
Bradbury (his old stuff, his newer stuff is
self-indulgent tripe), Orson Scott Card (Pastwatch was
fantastic, the "Earth" series was a yawn fest), C.J.
Cherryh (hit and miss), Arthur C. Clarke, Isaac
Asimov,  Julie E. Czerneda, Gordon R. Dickson, David
Eddings, Terry Goodkind, Joe Haldeman, Harry Harrison,
Robert A. Heinlein, Stephen King (although he's
getting strange, these days), Nancy Kress, Charles
Sheffield, Anne McCaffrey (hey, I was younger, then),
Jack McDevitt, Elizabeth Moon, Larry Niven, Doris
Pierschia, Robert Silverberg, Joan D. Vinge and
Katherine Maclean.

That's just for starters <wicked grin>

I think that about covers it.

Genny      




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