At 56

Confession: ever since childhood, I had the notion that I would most likely suffer a fatal heart attack at the age of 55. Of course back then the double nickel seemed like it was a thousand years away, and I figured I would have plenty of time to live a good life in the meantime.

Just goes to show you how quickly a thousand years can fly by…

In any case, I felt compelled in the last year to tell those closest to me — for example, my oldest friend Janey, and this woman sitting in my living room for the last 23 years for another — about my childhood notion. I had wanted to give those closest to me some sort of warning in case my feelings of mortality came true on time. Well, one thing led to another — called day-to-day living — and it ended up that I never got around to telling anyone.

Just as well, because I didn’t die, although my blog writing has been gasping on life support for several months.

I turned 56 at the beginning of a wonderful long weekend; we don’t do vacations anymore, just long weekends. We spent the weekend with friends in Delaware, walked around Rehoboth Beach despite or just to spite our arthritic backs/knees, and generally broke up our routines with the change in scenery.

I found Rehoboth Beach to be a nice little town on the sea. This weekend was the first long block of time I had spent there. I had passed through it at other times without stopping for a long period beyond a lunch with friends a few years ago.

I actually believed it could be a nice place to live someday, but then I realized that I was seeing it in the off season. This is a beach town after all, and their livelihood depends on the in-season tourist traffic. No, my blood pressure would most likely not withstand the stress of the tourist scene.

So this landmark birthday was celebrated at Dos Locos in Rehoboth Beach with a pitcher of sangria shared with Warrior Queen, and capped with a nice free dessert, a sombrero on my head and a chorus of Happy Birthday from members of the Dos Locos wait staff. Obviously, someone (Mark, I'm looking at you!) blabbed about my birth date to the restaurant management. 

 

In past years, I would try to keep my celebration a secret whenever I dined out on my birthday. I would see this display of congratulations showered on other diners and I imagined that I would die of embarrassment if it ever happened to me. Good news: I didn’t die of embarrassment when it finally happened and it was all over before I realized it. Besides, the dessert — a few scoops of ice cream and chocolate sauce in a tortilla shell - was very good. 

  

My 23rd anniversary with Warrior Queen happened in the middle of this weekend. I gave her a gift card for her favorite nail salon and a gag gift: a bell which she could ring to hasten the delivery of her morning “happy juice” (i.e., coffee). I intended it to be a gag, but alas, the joke has been on me. Warrior Queen has used it every day since she got it and every day her coffee magically appears. It appears instantly through my pre-planning, starting the coffee maker, and preparing her cup with the proper amount of artificial sweetener and non-dairy creamer. 

  

This might not sound like much, but making coffee for someone else can be a lot of work when you’re still trying to wake up yourself. But in the end it is a labor of love.

So I am waking up again at 56. My past 55 years was one side of my life. This side of my life will mean going back to the routines of the old life: daily coffee making,   exercise on the stationary bicycle (interrupted weeks ago by the pain of arthritis in the knees), and of course earning a living. The long weekend is over and it’s now time to get back to everyday living which I hope to keep doing for many years to come.  

(Thank you for reading and…oh, there’s that bell again. Coming, dear!)