Happy Birthday To Ringo And Me, I'm 56 In 56! 22

Happy Birthday To Ringo And Me, I'm 56 In 56!

Today is my birthday, July 8, 1956. It is also the birthday of my ex-husband, who is 8 hours older than me. And yesterday was Ringo's birthday. I don't know why but I recognize Ringo's birthday every year, have since I was a kid. At least now I Tweet him my wishes. Still waiting for the return Tweet.

This year I'm 56 in 56. How did this happen, how can I be a 56-year-old grandmother? Not like I've been in a coma or did a Rip Van Winkle, I have been here and aware of the passage of time.

Birthdays are a reminder of that passage, a time of reflection. Which was once a time of excitement, like Christmas, Jr., is now a time of acceptance that time is finite, our journey has an end and you are one year closer to it. I am okay with that.

I admit I do miss the feeling of excitement of the childhood birthday. The good wishes and cake and presents, especially the presents, those were good times. Mom always made your favorite dinner and everybody was really nice to you, even the ones who were not normally, like your bratty little brother. I remember the landmark birthdays, 13, 16, 18, 21, they brought certain rights and privileges, so the birthdays were a positive experience, and at that time you couldn't wait for your birthday.

After 21 the happy birthday thing went downhill for me. 30 was not a happy birthday. I'm 30, what the hell. That's OLD. Turning 40 evoked a similar reaction, although the realization that I still looked pretty hot smoothed that one out a little. 44 was a real eye opener as I became a grandmother and started dating a 22-year-old simultaneously, a confusing time. On my 50th birthday, I went out to the mailbox to retrieve the birthday card from Dad with $50 in it (which he discontinued this year BTW) only to be greeted with an invitation to join AARP now that I was qualified. Screw You. So much for 50.

Turning 52 was also a bittersweet birthday. I carried around the irrational fear that I would not make it past my Mom's death age. I did. I made it to 56, hopefully beyond.

55 was a landmark year for me. It's the year that I hit bottom and bounced out of my several years' long transitions and started on a new path. 56 will be the year that I move forward.

How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. Love that saying, thanks, Brad. Living life is like eating an elephant. Take one bite, chew and savor, swallow then move on to the next piece. Repeat until you run out of elephant. 

Live until you die.

 

P.S. Mom was my hairdresser back then. Yikes.

This blog is dedicated to all the members of the "56 in 56" club. We still ROCK!!!!!