Bill took me to Jamaica on my birthday (ok I made all the travel arrangements and he agreed to go with me despite the fact that there was NOTHING to do at the resort) to celebrate (aka hideout from the world). I didn't think that turning 50 was going to be such a major deal. But, one month prior to the big day I tore my achilles tendon and was encumbered by a cast/boot on my right foot. My driving foot PS. Bill said that God "smote me" because I was too caught up in the whole aging thing. I agreed that it was a cosmic joke just to drive home the fact that my body was betraying me.
Anyway it's healing, and my health at age 50, other than the whole tendon thing, is very good.... not quite as good as Sally O'Malley ... but pretty darn good.
Strangely, this year was one of milestones in our family - our daughter, Emma turned 21 ( we celebrated at the casino), our son, Will turned 18 ( he said he drank some alcohol), I've already mentioned my mum and now, Bill is about to turn 60. Seems kind of weird that it's all happening at once. And that we all feel the need to mark the milestones somehow. Bill and I approach birthdays differently- and we both respect each others choice. He ALWAYS wants a party and I ALWAYS don't want to have a party.
But, as Bill says, we'll be dead a long time - so why not live it up while we can. It's kind of an American thing, I think. Throw a party in the garage when the kid graduates from pre-school type of attitude. He may have something there.
Maybe when I turn 51 I'll change my mind about a party.
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