Happy Birthday Fiddy-Six

I'm fixin' to be fiddy-six.  Now, isn't that just a good enough age to be?  My hair is getting more and more silver, which is a beautiful color for hair.  I am free of trends and fashions.  I am comfortable in my thinning skin.  I laugh at myself. Sure I can speak my mind, but I can also speak my heart without embarrassment or fear.

I'm not crazy about the aches and pains and I'm certain  that I used to be smarter.  But I'm also certain I'm wiser now.  And at the end of the day, I reckon wisdom trumps smarts. 

I don't really understand the obsession our culture has with sustaining youth.  Just glance at those magazines in the checkout line.  Everyone of them promises the secret to feeling and looking younger.  Why is that?  At what age do we stop wishing to be a bit older and start wishing to be a bit younger?  I guess it must be around 27 for most people.  I think that's such a waste.  I'm so much cooler than I was at 27.

Why don't we just embrace the age we are now?  Right now, I'm older than I've ever been before and I'm really ok with that.  If I get smashed to death by a falling oak tree tomorrow, that would be ok with me, but I'd be a bit disappointed that I have so much more to do. My bucket list grows faster than my to-read list.   

There are a few pearls of wisdom I've collected from the great philosophers of the ages over my years.

• Life is short, but it's wide
• You can't always get what you want
• Obla di, obla da life goes on
• To everything there is a season and time to every purpose under heaven
• What you think about me is really none of my business
• Everything is holy now
• Sometimes you just gotta
• Listen
• Love and knowledge are never wasted
• Things will own you if you let them
• There's a big problem with perfection

I'm sure there are more, but you know, I don't remember things like I used to.  I think it's because I'm taking up valuable memory space with gems such as the exact words used to break my heart every single time it's been broken.  That's a lot of times.  Lucky for me that thing heals.  And how boring would life be if you didn't have your heart broken by cruel middle school kids or a forgotten anniversary or the death of a friend or loving someone who didn't love you back?  My bridge master told me that if I didn't go set a third of the time, I wasn't bidding bravely enough. 

Be fearless!  You get better at screwing up the  more you practice. 

In the seconds before that big oak tree falls on me if I have any regrets, I hope to honk they are for things I've done and not for things I haven't tried.

That Fool Lost His Bongos

We all have that little inner voice that we really should listen to.  But my voice of reason often mumbles. Perhaps a speech impediment. Lately I have trouble making out just what it's talking about.  "Speak up!" I say and it says, "Arrrummnnumlee. . .errr."

Lately I'm afraid that my inner child is developing Alzheimer's.  I know for sure that brat has arthritis.  She can barely get out of bed some mornings.  Lots of days she'd rather stay home than come to work with me.  She has been forgetting to play.  Maybe she's depressed.

And another thing - all my life I have marched to a different drummer.  But I think that fool lost his bongos.  He has been the sound of one hand clapping and it's tough to keep the beat. I feel like I'm tripping along. 

My boss saw me dancing - make that trying to dance - in the hall yesterday and nearly fell down laughing.  I looked like I attended the White Geriatric School of Dance for the Footless.  When did that happen? The wings on my feet have lost their feathers.

I have no trouble aging.  But all those other folk - that little voice, my inner child, my different drummer - those guys aren't handling it well.

Golden Years

An old man mows the lawn as his frail wife slowly picks up sticks that might be in his way.  He sweats in the hot sun and she brings him a glass of cold water. He drinks it, hands her the empty glass and returns to his work without words.

At the grocery he pushes the cart and she collects items from the shelves.  He pauses when they come to the soup section.  She doesn't need to tell him that they are out of tomato soup.  At the meat counter he stops to admire some steaks.  She keeps walking and picks up a package of chicken breasts.  He silently puts the steaks back and pushes the cart along.  They hold on to each other as they take their purchases to their car.

Ah, isn't that sweet?  Cute little ol' couple. They've been married so long they don't even need to talk.  She knows when he is thirsty.  They work together.  She is concerned about his cholesterol.  A gentleman, he takes the heavier part. They hold on to each other because they're so much in love.

Well, maybe.

Or maybe they met a few years ago on Match.com.  Maybe she picks up the sticks because she knows it's the only way he'll get the grass cut.  Maybe she brings him water because she doesn't want him  getting sick and laying around all week.  Maybe he hates chicken and tomato soup, but it seems to be the only damn thing she knows how to cook. Maybe he pushes the mower and the cart because he doesn't trust her driving. Maybe they hold on to each other because they're both so full of gin they're in danger of falling. And maybe they don't talk because he's sick and tired of hearing her nag and she's sick and tired of him not listening.

You just never know.

Groovy At 55

I was talking to my 87 year old mother yesterday. She said she couldn't believe that I'll soon be 55. Me either, I guess. It's surprising. Although I really don't know what the heck being 55 is supposed to feel like. All I know is how I feel and I'm fixin' to tell you.

There are some physical changes that happened with age. My knees sound like amplified Rice Crispies. I'm softer than I used to be. Gravity has changed my shape some, too. My neck has a funky sort of texture, sort of like stretched crepe paper. Sometimes I get a rush of heat and my face turns red and I start to sweat, even though it's not hot in the room. My hair (on my head) when not colored, is half white and half black, I have about three hairs on my legs, none on my arms and most of my once heavy black eyebrows are gone.

There are mental changes, too. I have forgotten a lot of stuff I used to know, but I've learned a lot more stuff than I've forgotten. I've also remembered some things that I didn't remember when I was in my 20s and 30s. I've remembered important details of childhood, friendship, and family that I didn't have time to remember when I was a young adult.

Relationships have certainly changed. Friends and family members have died. The makeup of family has changed with marriage, births, divorces. People have moved. Nothing stays the same except the important stuff.

Emotional changes are possibly the most noticeable to me. I am happy. It's not a happy that's the result of anything that I have or any event that has happened to me. It's a kind of happy that comes with recognizing my connection to the Universe. Another emotional change is that I no longer give a poop if that sounds weird to you. I love you anyway.

I no longer care if the clothes I wear are in style or hip because if I'm comfortable in them, I feel groovy. I no longer feel compelled to suck in my tummy, which is convenient since it's not that suck-in-able. If I don't know what someones talking about, I ask, unconcerned about appearing silly. I know I'm silly and I know I'm smart. I don't feel compelled to prove it.

I have decided that there aren't very many things that are really important to me. Relationships are important. Our relationship with the rest of the planet is important. Joy and peace are important. Things aren't important. Money comes and it goes.

I realize that I love everyone I've ever loved, though I may love them from a distance or silently or across time. And I love them regardless of how they feel about me. How other people feel about me is really none of my business unless they care to share it.

Being softer and having audible joints aren't bad things. They are just different. Sure it would be great to have the health of a young person, but I wouldn't trade my years for it. I have no wish to appear younger than I am. I'm much cooler than I used to be. I achieve things every day that I wouldn't be able to do if I were younger. So roll on, 55! I think it's going to be a very groovy year!

Statistically Sucky

Today was one of those pewter sky days with fog so thick you have to use windshield wipers. The sun never peaked out. It was just fine. Perfect in its own way.

Ten of us girls who grew up in a place very much like Mayberry hidden in the middle of the cornfields in Western Illinois, got in contact with each other again in recent years. We didn't reconnect at our five year reunion or even our ten year reunion, but sometime after the reunions didn't really have years attached to them anymore. We connected years after there was any motivation to prove anything to each other.

Today I learned that one of the ten of us has a particularly nasty form of cancer.

Two of our group are currently fighting cancer. Two have MS. Two have fibromyalgia. Two have lived through the death of a child. Almost everyone has lost at least one parent. Two of us have been married more than once. One has never succumbed to marriage. Three have grand children. To my knowledge no one is gay. I don't really know how "average" our statistics are, but lots of them suck.

Thirty-six years ago not one of us could have guessed who'd be where today. I certainly didn't think I'd be the only one of us living outside Illinois. Who knew so many would move back to our sleepy little hometown? I seem to remember that we were all itching to get out of there.

I don't think we spent a second of worry on who might have this disease or that disease later in life and that's certainly the way it should be. Actually, now that I think about it, I remember warning my friends who could tan that they would someday have wrinkles and may get skin cancer, but I only said that because I was jealous.

I guess if we would have thought about it - which certainly would have been a waste of our young time - we would have realized that we would all be faced with some rotten stuff in our lives. I'm glad we didn't think about it then. Ignorance truly is bliss sometimes. We were so busy enjoying the sun and the bright blue skies that we had no idea in the world that a pewter sky day with fog and mist is also beautiful in its time.

Even though the stuffed-shirts don't read my blog, I really do love my girls.

Year may be left blank

You don't have to tell people how old you are if your profile. You can leave the year blank if you'd like. I suppose you could lie, too. My daughter accused me of being 25 for 25 years, and I have to admit that I used to tell people I was a few (uh-hem) years younger than I was.

When we were kids we wanted to be older. When we were 15, we couldn't wait to be 16. Then 18, then 21, and then, sometime around age 25 we started wanting to be 22 again. What a bloomin' waste of time.

I have 54 years! There are lots of good, adventurous years included in those. In fact, they are all keepers. Some of them were more fun than others. In fact, at least a few of them were really painful. But since they brought me to this lovely rainy autumn day I wouldn't want to change them - not that I'm likely to be given the chance to change the past any time soon.

Why is it that young people think it's better to be young? I understand that there is a biological urge to have sex with healthy-looking prospective parents of our future children, but somewhere along the line, we come to the conclusion that age ain't so bad. When people tell me that I don't look as old as I am, my mind stutters as I try to take it as a compliment. If we really appreciate age, what is wrong with looking our age? Older, even? As a matter of fact, what does it mean to look your age? It doesn't make any more sense than acting your age.

This is what 54 looks like and this is what 54 acts like. Perfect just as I am and in need of a little improvement. I'm hot, let's face it.

Take heart, Children. Have hope. There is a good chance you will get to be 54, too. And there's every reason to believe I'm going to one day be a bright, charming, sexy 84 year old. Maybe I'll take up painting. Maybe I'll become humble.

I remember my grandmother saying, "Oh, you young people think you invented sex!" I can remember as a youngin' figuring out how old I'd be at the turn of the century and deciding that I'd be far too old to celebrate. I was 45. I was not too old (blushing.) I am still not too old. It's a well kept Boomer secret (and I hope I don't get kicked out for revealing it) that things don't even start getting juicy until about 45, when you no longer have to even consider that biological urge to reproduce and can concentrate on the fun stuff. In fact, I hope to be just hitting my prime every moment for the rest of my life.