Tomorrow is May 1st. It's my birthday month. I will be 55 on May 25th. Wow.
I figure this is a big one. Browsing through a magazine in the waiting room of my primary care doctor, I came across an advertisement for a retirement village that carried the tagline "Life Begins At 55." All right! I'm almost there. Rebirth awaits.
So I started working on my birthday wishlist earlier than usual figuring since this is a big one my presents should reflect that. But when I informed my sister-in-law, she responded in an e-mail, "Wendy said that '55' isn't considered a big one. Just old ;-) "
Ohhhhhh, et tu, Wendy? Stabbed in the back by the missus. Hea, the local Bob Evans restaurant recognizes 55 as a milestone. They have a couple special pages in their menu devoted to those of us (well, soon to be me) 55 and over.
Speaking of milestone birthdays, I took the family up to Bay City last Saturday night for my nephew's 30th birthday. He sometimes comments here on my blog as does his father, "The Enforcer."
My nephew is big on big parties, having long turned his garage into a kind of neighborhood pub, complete with a name--Mahoney's, and even a framed collage of the "bartenders of the month." I saw The Enforcer's picture there.
A big party it was, with catered Mexican food even. One of his gifts was a glass boot that held, I believe, two liters of beer. That's a lot. It was filled and passed around amongst the raucous party-goers which numbered in the dozens. I hear these parties can get plenty wild, though I suspect not really so until oldsters like myself leave.
Oh the stories you hear afterwards. My sister wrote to me later, "Did you know that our mother gave this guy a huge hug when he walked in when we were leaving? ...I asked her who that was and she said "Mason". (Mason has been my nephew's friend for many years) Somebody else immediately says Mason's behind the bar...the guy mom hugged was the neighbor."
Well, at least the neighbor was apparently coming to join the party. He wasn't coming to complain about the noise. He didn't mind the hug either.
Just before I left I remember seeing that my nephew had stripped off his shirt and was sandwiched between two young ladies, neither of whom was his wife, dancing together in the middle of the garage.
I can tell you one thing. If we go to Bob Evans for my birthday so I can get the special menu, the shirt stays on.