Fifty and Fabulous

I took a walk this morning. For the past seven years, I’ve gone to the gym and cavorted with Larry the Elliptical instead of traversing around the level streets of the North Park neighborhood. My gym pass has expired and I need to wait until tomorrow to renew it as I am avoiding credit cards like the plague. The storm from last night had carried tree debris into the streets, clumped in brown packets along the street.

The birds were singing as if rehearsing for a Broadway audition. They were an ensemble group, represented by cardinals, robins, wrens and sparrows. Even the quail and the morning doves contributed harmony. Five squirrels were meeting for coffee under an old sycamore tree. I tried to eavesdrop on their conversation, but my squirrelese is rusty.

I passed by the bridge over the creek where my boys once played when they were small enough to enjoy its magic. Twigs and leaves and browned and rotting blossoms clogged the side of the cement abutment. I wondered at the strength of the storm that must have passed through last night, to cause such high waters necessary to carry the debris as far as appeared. I peered over the edge and water rushed underneath, but not in excess of expectation. On the other end of the bridge, however, a large logjam of branches and brown refuse had accumulated, a stagnant frothy film accompanying the water rushing beneath. My neighbor had mentioned earlier that she had gotten water in her basement for the first time in forty four years and now I understood why.

I had gone to sleep last night to the music of the storm. I listened to the lullaby of the pit pat of the rain on my skylight and the murmurings of thunder in the distance as I sought the hand of sleep. Apparently, the storm had intensified as I slept, but I slept so soundly that when I awoke in the morning, I was oblivious to nature’s fury last night.

While I walked, I reflected on the two weeks since my birthday, my fiftieth birthday. It was the best birthday of my life, so far. had a fabulous fiftieth birthday. Most stories like this begin with the person waking up, groggy for a few minutes, then realizing that today is their birthday. I went to bed remembering the day and woke up to the sound of birds singing, to rainbows dancing across my ceiling from the prism in my window. The world was singing happy birthday, but then, the world always sings happy birthday to me in the morning. I’m lucky that way.

I’d purchased a tiara from Michael’s hobby shop in TriCounty as a birthday present to myself. It was a sturdy tiara, made of a surprisingly heavy silver colored metal, adorned with pearls and rhinestones in the shapes of many daisies. I got out of bed, donned my ragged gardening clothes, staggered to the bathroom and picked up the tiara, resting as it was on the counter in my bathroom. I was looking forward to being Queen Elizabeth, even for only one evening.

I prepared my morning cup of Betty’s Blend and Oatmeal with Almonds and sat down at my computer. I could hear Kevin bustling about as he got ready for school. My email box had three birthday messages, and several more arrived before the day was out, mostly from former love interests. I reflected on that as I drove Kevin to school, as I mulched my front yard flower bed, as I planted the last few flowers, as I read the birthday greetings throughout the day, as I answered the phone to more of the same. I heard from almost every man I’d ever thought about loving as an adult, except for my ex husband. Regardless of the fact that I have, for the most part, slept alone for the past nine years, I considered myself one lucky woman.

I rushed through my shower, hurriedly curled my hair, threw on the minimal amount of makeup, donned my tiara, and shepherded Kevin into the car. The older boys had left ahead of me, in hopes of making my apologies for being late…as always. Traffic was backed up and I had to stop for gas. The clock kept ticking and I kicked my Project Completion Disorder which had kept me at my mulch spreading task until the last spot of ground was blanketed. It put me half an hour behind schedule. I made up for some of that time by hurrying, but I was still running late. With the Memorial Day traffic, I arrived at my party at 5:30. I ran into one of my clients on his way out.

Despite my typical untimeliness, I was beaming. I couldn’t stop smiling, not from the time I arrived at 5:30pm until I tumbled into bed at 4:00am. Everywhere I turned were people I loved. My staff was there, whom I love like sisters. Friends from my Quaker meeting were there with Dancing Guy, who grabbed me and gave me a kiss on the lips. I stepped back in giddy shock.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for that?” I asked him.

“Um, yeah, I have some idea.” He smirked.

“Who told you!?” I demanded indignantly, blood effusing my face.

“Sometimes a guy can figure that out.” He chuckled.

My ex-husband’s sister was there with her husband and my niece. A straight spouse friend of mine from Baltimore had used my birthday as an opportunity for a getaway weekend with his new girlfriend. Clients were there, movie group friends were there, Sun Magazine friends were there, writing sisters were there, neighbors were there, Jennifer and SAHD-Guy were there, along with Chris, his newly betrothed. Suzanne and her new boyfriend were there. Old Artist Guy was there, chatting up Suzanne and Jennifer. He kissed me when I greeted him, then took his leave for his Friday night date.

Chemistry Guy greeted me, and put a drink in my hand, which he kept filled until we left at nine. I introduced my clients to my boys, beaming proudly as they shook their hands. Two of my surrogate sons were there (friends of my boys that I call my own). Everywhere I turned, I hugged. I grinned. I laughed out loud.

I was too excited to eat anything, despite a gnawing hunger in my belly. I wanted to talk to everyone, and I did, for just a few minutes. Anita gathered everyone together to sing happy birthday and to make a champagne toast. I gathered some extra air into my lungs, and huffed my birthday wish across all ten black candles, wishing what I always wish, wishing what everyone wishes who has everything they want except someone next to them when they wake up.

The evening was over way too quickly, and soon, my guests were taking their leave. SAHD Guy french kissed me, grinning wickedly.

“I wanted to make sure you were French kissed on your birthday.” He murmured in my ear. Then he did it again.

Dancing Guy approached, pronouncing his departure. He grabbed me and kissed me again. Three of my lesbian friends were right behind him and one of them puckered up for the same. At first, I shied away with a bashful grin, but then, the alcohol reminded me that I am not afraid of anything. I put my hands on both sides of her face, and kissed her. Then I kissed the other two lesbian women behind her, one of which I’d known for fifteen years.

Everyone was shocked, but no one more so than myself.

I gathered up my stash of gifts, Chemistry Guy in tow. He helped me to my car, kissed me chastely goodnight, and I headed home, effervescent with happiness.

I replayed the party in my head. As I was driving the song playing on the radio pulled me from my party thoughts. “She was just too busy being fabulous” was sarcastically being crooned by the Eagles. Fabulous at Fifty, that’s how I felt.

Now, two weeks later, as I rounded the corner and headed towards home, I thought about the debris on the road after the storm, about all the different undercurrents that accompanying living. I thought about the storms that often swirl in my head, oblivious to those sleeping around me. I hope I can quiet those storms. I hope that I can find a way through the logjam, so that my heart can be as free as the water rushing on the other side of the bridge.