Fairly 50

It's almost 11 o'clock. I am an hour away from turning 50.

I say it out loud. Fifty. I've been around for as long as I can remember. Yeesh, that's a long time.
 
My turning fifty marks the end of probably one of the most well-chronicled cases of midlife crisis there ever was. I've written this blog for the last two years. I've been embarrassingly self-focused and narcissistic as I've struggled to grow up in middle age.

I've joked about all the foibles of growing old in mind and body. But beneath all the humor, I've done a lot of searching too.

My journey through midlife has had all the five stages of grief, but not necessarily in this order: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. 

I'm to the last stage of acceptance. I know people say, "You're only as old as you feel." "Age is just a number." "You're only 50; that's not old." Yada, yada, yada. 

But truth is, I am getting old. So are you. No one's getting out of this alive. We're getting closer to eternity every day. It's foolish not to consider what comes after this life.


Lars, my big bear of a brother

As many of you know, my brother, Lars, was critically ill last week. He was within a few hours of dying. An emergency surgery saved his life.

I was alone with him just before he was taken to surgery. It was surreal. The doctor said there was a high rate of mortality for him. In plain words, he was saying, "You could die."

It was unthinkable of life without Lars. We all depend on him so much. He is one of the greatest men I know. He is a humble man of integrity, having a heart for the Lord and for people. His life exudes the character of Christ.

As they wheeled Lars out of the room, I told him that I loved him and that he had nothing to lose. He gave a little wave and said, "Well, see you here, there, or in the air."

God spared him. But, really, God spared us from the grief of losing him. Lars' faith has been in Jesus Christ. He has the assurance of knowing where he's going after he dies. He has lived his life in light of eternity. He truly has nothing to lose.

Walk on By

Dionne Warwick's Walk on By has been playing over and over in my head all day.

I sang it when I thought about getting a Twix Bar from the vending machine and when I was tempted to pilfer a Panera Bread cookie from the Blood Bank.  I told myself just walk on by tonight when I saw that I had all the ingredients to make a lemonade pie.  (If you haven't had lemonade pie, best not ask for the recipe. If you're anything like me, you'll whip it up in five minutes and be burying your face in it ten minutes later.)

Time to quit fooling around. Four and a half weeks before the wedding, and I don't have a dress. Well, I did have one. I bought it a few months ago at Macy's. First dress that I liked and which fit, even though it was a wee snug on top. I figured it would be just fine if I bought the right undergarment.

Yesterday I took the dress into Soma Intimates to find something that would work its magic. I squirmed into the dress, and with considerable huffing and circling around backwards in the dressing room, I got it zipped.  I took a look in the mirror. Oh my. Not the look I was going for. Everything squished up the back of the dress into my shoulder blades, while my front side was smashed flat like I had taken to binding my chest.

I now have three options. One, get the dress altered, which will probably cost me more than what I paid for it. Two, hit the mall in search of another one, the idea of which makes me want to curl up in a ball, sucking my thumb. Or, three, keep singing Walk on By and hope the dress fits by November 3rd.