No, I'm not 50 yet,
although after the birthday I celebrated while on my trip last week,
I can certainly see 50 clearly from here.
In fact, one (used to be?) friend has pointed out to me several times that I am in my 50th year. Thank you. You know who you are.
But every birthday surely -- and increasingly! -- beats the alternative, so I will continue to welcome them with cake and fanfare.
No, the 50 to which I'm referring is my current lifestyle.
You see, no one managed to sell my house while I was gone, which leaves me right back where I was way back when I was still 48.
I know, I promised to stop talking about all-things-house, but --
In a Twilight Zone type turn of events, it occurs to me that I have somehow become trapped in the pages of one of my magazines from the 1950's. I don't have anything else to talk about, because it's pretty much all I do. I feel that someone should have warned me that if I spent enough time hanging around those women, they might begin to rub off on me....
Now that the other half of the team has moved on to sunnier climes, I've no choice but to spend my days in an endless cycle of dusting and vacuuming, punctuated with occasional bouts of weeding. Someone's got to do it. And it's enough to make a woman crazy.
Somehow I'm not finding it as easy as the 1950's women did to get excited about it all. (Which makes me wonder whether they were actually excited about any of it either, but that's another post.)
Instead I just spend my time wondering how long it will last and plotting my escape.
I suppose I could have you all over
for a lovely summer luncheon . . .
but I am afraid if I did I might be tempted to go full-on 50's and make something really....umm...reminiscent of the nightmare in which I am trapped.
I thought tomato soup jello was the bottom of the 1950's food barrel. Now I find a recipe in which they actually added ham before putting it all in the blender....mmmm mmmm good!
It could be sort of fun though. We could swap stories about our ironing and freezer-defrosting adventures while sitting around without air conditioning strapped into girdles that make it so hard to breathe that we're not even tempted to over-indulge in Tomato-Ham Buffet Ring.
We could call it a welcome-to-your-50th-year
birthday party for me!
Or we could do almost ANYTHING else.....