An order of forty pizzas would involve a lot of pepperoni and could feed a soccer team or two. A bouquet of forty flowers would rival a small garden in beauty and splendor, with dahlias and tulips and lilies all vying for attention. Forty pairs of shoes would take up a healthy chunk of closet real estate (but nothing like Imelda Marcos’ 1200 – or was it nearly 3000? – pairs!). Forty kids would be more than even the Duggars have. Forty cats would totally make you the crazy cat lady. For the record, I am not one of those. Yet.
Forty years…would land me here, in this town, with this family, with this life. I can’t believe the number’s getting so big, but I can’t believe how lucky I feel to be living this life, either, or how I suddenly feel the need to ration my time, to be more cautious and yet more free, to use it as I see fit and not just in a way that makes the days pass.
Forty may be getting on, but, to paraphrase a song from the musical which was my musical debut (and swan song) in high school: there’s still a lot of living to do.
Besides, forty pennies wouldn’t get you far, so forty can’t really be that many, can it?