|Great cuisine and memories with Chuckee Cheese|
Besides the fact that there are no fifty year olds saying it, I'm here to say it's all a bunch of malarky.
The day I turned fifty I did a cartwheel in my backyard, just to be sure I still could. It wasn't pretty but it didn't put me into traction. Let me tell you the chances I'd do a cartwheel today. Or that Cub Sweetheart would want me to. Because if I was dumb enough to do such a thing, very likely I'd throw my back out and be down for the count for a good two weeks.
When I was fifty I not only could still do a cartwheel, I hauled wheel barrels of mulch across the yard, and dressed up all the flower beds. I poured concrete and painted basement floors. I stained the deck.
When I was fifty I could live on five hours of sleep. I didn't feel tops but I could get through the day without feeling like I'd been struck with a case of ebola or bubonic plague.
Now, as I screech into 63 in just a couple of days, I got six hours of sleep last night. Six. And it's not pretty.
When my son, who is studying for his doctorate, had to get a section of his dissertation turned in a month or so ago he got forty five minutes of sleep before he got up, took a shower, put on a suit and went to work. In fairness he did go to bed that night at 7:30 and slept ten hours, but I can't even imagine getting through the day on forty five minutes of sleep. You'd have to be dragging me across the floor by an arm to see any movement by me.
So after six hours of sleep, my day started at 6:30 with a very young person coming into the bedroom (I was staying at our kids' house), asking me where the birthday presents were. They happened to be in the closet of the bedroom I had been sleeping in. I can't tell you the last time I started my day with anyone asking me a question and expecting me to answer. Within five minutes of opening my eyes we were having a family birthday party, that did not involve coffee or quiet.
Within an hour of opening a variety of gifts that all involved Jurassic Park in some fashion, we climbed into the car to go to the donut shop. Nobody had on shoes, nobody had brushed their teeth, and everyone had bed hair. But apparently that's normal garb for the donut shop at 7:30 in the morning. I was too weary to do otherwise, so I started my day with a large coffee with cream and a blueberry donut which I consumed in about thirty seconds. Then I shifted into the phase of riding along, waiting for the sugar to hit my bloodstream, then flow to all my extremities.
The next hour found me on the interstate, driving back to my own home, where I drank another very large cup of coffee and ate more donuts. My only goal today is to keep the flow of sugar and caffeine to my bloodstream constant.
Next was lunch at Chuckee Cheese, where we ate greasy pizza and drank diet sodas, to which I added a shot of Mountain Dew.
It's afternoon and I've moved to Dr. Pepper which I believe has 12 - 16 tsp of sugar in it, if the stories are correct. I've heard rumors we're going out for dinner tonight, to further celebrate this birthday with greasy fried chicken, mashed potatoes drowned in butter, greasy green beans, and sweet tea. Lots of sweet tea.
My normal day involves two cups of coffee with cream, yogurt and fruit for breakfast, salad for lunch and a relatively healthy dinner. That's what sensible sixty plus year olds do.
I'm not fifty. I'm sliding into sixty three and six hours of sleep will show a body what they're really made of. Today it's sugar, caffeine and grease. Hopefully tonight will involve at least eight hours of sleep, and we can get back to normal.
But when I wake up, a day away from sixty three, I still won't be feeling like I'm fifty. That's just a bunch of malarky.