Dave turned forty-two recently. Over a month ago in fact. And I meant to post this picture, taken after the Solana Beach Triathlon but the month kind of got away with us.
At one point during the birthday festivities, Dave muttered under his breath about how freaking old 42 was. And I smiled, because getting older is the last thing I think of when it comes to my husband.
Consider that he and his triathlon mates came third in their category (Mens Relay), even though yes, he was the oldest member of his team and he doesn’t get out on his bike to train as often as he’d like.
Consider, though, that he does makes it a priority to cycle to work twice a week and get out on a Sunday morning to ride 25 to 40 miles along the coast.
And consider — not that I’m biased, noooooo! — that he still has the body (if not the energy … thanks Tau!) that he had in his twenties.
Dave also recently took a wine appreciation course and got excited all over again about the grape. He’s now a fundi on the subtleties of wines from countries we’d never tried and varietals we’d avoided — gasp! — even Chardonnays! Every night or two now it’s a new wine and we go through the paces — holding the glass up against a white background to appreciate the color, the paler meniscus, swirling it to observe the legs and guess at the alcohol content. And then sniffing the bouquet, lightly sipping and letting it roll in our mouths. Yes, we’re learning wine all over again.
If this is forty-two, it ain’t so bad!
Also wanted to post this one
of Dave in the early 70s.