I turn 58 in the spring. With the prospect of my life getting shorter I have the urge to Dare Beautiful Girl. Like the words on three poetry dog tags I inserted in a ball chain to create a jewelry poem.

In keeping with this I’m emailing elected leaders on issues that should be taken up. Like acting on the 100+ year-old promise to give the Cherokee Nation a seat in Congress.

Elsewhere what I’m doing points to the fact that a person is not ever too old to change their tune.

All my life I’ve only used clear nail polish to give myself a manicure.

This week I didn’t want my talking hands to fade into the woodwork either.

Confetti-sparkle nail polish to the rescue.

Out of the blue I craved color on my hands to express a lively feeling.

Wit happens when you’re 57.

I see the world differently than I did at 27.

It’s called risking. And risking that my nail polish might chip.

This is neither here nor there in the scheme of world peace.

Yet anything that would make the trial of being a caregiver today worth it I’ll take.

We should cherish that our mother or father is still alive. Forgive them if we must for how our childhoods were.

Often: “The pain is real” as the expression goes. Whatever trial we’re going through I say:

To turn an ordinary day into a celebration buy that $5 bottle of nail polish.

What I would like to do when I retire is volunteer my time to take individuals with disabilities to Sephora. To pay for them to get a makeover.

Neon green nails here I come!