—For Melissa, an emotional winter gives way to the surprise of new growth—
If one pays the closest attention it is possible to see the turns of the seasons in particular the arrival of Spring. Here in Northern New Mexico the seasons are showy, dramatic and distinct rituals accompany them.
I’ve been here for the last two and a half months having arrived early in February to be with my father during his time in a rehabilitation hospital as efforts were made to get him back on his feet after a particularly “killer” series of chemotherapy treatments. I’ve seen him released from the rehab hospital only to be admitted to another hospital a couple of weeks later and to hear the Doctor say “he is dying.” I’ve participated in the first meeting with the hospice doctor. I was present to hear the doctor say, “It’s true I am a hospice doctor, but I also have hospice graduates and I think its possible that a year from now you will be one of my graduates.” With this possibility held out to us we all, the whole family, became singularly focused on my father’s weight gain and his tours up and down the hall with his walker. We have gone from the place where my father’s friends came ostensibly to say goodbye, to the pleasant surprise of ongoing visits. Read more
Recently Fifty is the New celebrated its third anniversary. Wow! Three years? Time sure does fly when you’re sharing the virtual stage with smart, witty, passionate women.
When we started out there were few, but these days “midlife blogs” are everywhere. Sometimes, when I want to throw in the blogazine towel, I find myself inspired by the writings of Carine, Connie, Christie, Melissa and Pru, such amazing women, and deeply touched by the community that supports us. Readers, both old and new, you are the reason we do this. Your warm bear hugs and smart comments keep us keeping on. We thank you.
There have been so many excellent posts in the past three years that it’s time we reached into the archives. For part one of our anniversary celebration, I’ve asked the Bloggerinas to pick a favorite post written by a fellow contributor.
Here are their selections. Enjoy the “best of” Fifty is the New… and let us know what you think!
A telephone survey has Prudence coming to grips with middle age and beyond
Recently, a marketing firm contacted me looking for a Baby Boomer willing to talk candidly about a variety of subjects ranging from plastic surgery to (ahem) performance-enhancing supplements.
Never shy about broadcasting my opinions, I agreed. I am, after all, a member of the me generation that was promised 15 minutes of fame. Each. Never mind that the infant terrible who made this promise is long dead, so can’t be held accountable. And talking to a telemarketer isn’t exactly fame, per se.
The thirtysomething professional on the other end of the phone reminded me of myself—albeit a two-decade-earlier self, when I, too, thought of age 50 as an impossibly faraway place that would somehow recede into the distance the closer I got to it. Read more
I was standing in the grocery store line the other day perusing magazine headlines: “Madonna Gives Birth to Satan’s Love Child,” “Brad and Angelina Adopt Cat,” “Bulimic Brittany Barfs Barrels—Spagos Diners Disgusted,” when something so mind-boggling, so shocking caught my eye, I gasped. Glamour magazine’s cover page, in all its glossy glory headlined, “What to Wear at 20, 30, 40, to be Your Sexy Best.” I was aghast. All I could think of was when did it happen? When did I fall off the fashion radar? What about MEEEEE?????
It hadn’t occurred to me that I would be facing this dilemma so soon. I’m standing at the crossroads of Juicy Couture and Talbot’s. I’m pretty clear that at my age wearing the word “JUICY” on my ass is just false advertising, but I’m also not ready for the muumuus and leisure wear that I see in the next department, and I sure as hell don’t want to look like a Republican, all coiffed and suited up so tight I squeak. Read more
Evolutionary art by Cristian René
Being in one’s fifties is a revelation and I am reveling in it. Though I never had as much energy in my life as I had in my thirties, I never looked as good in my life as I looked in my forties, I’ve never been smarter, more confident, more willing to say, “yes, I can” in my life than I am right now, and besides; my friends who love me and who wish to live long, tell me I look great! I am in the middle of C-H-A-N-G-E, change of career, change of habits, change of mind, change of life. The whole enchilada…the big megillah…seeing the larger picture…well, it’s all happening for me right now. Read more
“Giant boobies, on my chest.
One points east, the other points west.”
(Sung to the tune of Don Ho’s “Tiny Bubbles”… and if you’re around my age, you know who he was.)
Sadly, the words to this little titty ditty are prophetic.
I have large breasts. Not a complaint, mind you. I have always enjoyed a very good relationship with my bodacious tata’s. They are quite nice and symmetrical; my husband describes them as soft, comfy and compelling. Everyone seems to enjoy a hug from me. Sweaters have followed me home, and, yes, men have bypassed eye contact with me all together to carry on deep conversations with them. They’ve been called fabulous. My sister says that no one has enjoyed my breasts more than I have. My sister’s breasts are those charming “champagne glass” types. (Though, they say to never drink champagne from those little bowls, flutes are better. Frankly, I’d drink champagne from a jock strap. I love the stuff). Read more
Hi. My Name is Prudence, and I’m a Baby Boomer.
It’s not simple being a Boomer. You have to Take It Easy – especially these days with the less-than perfect balance and vision.
You have to live One Day at a Time – I’ve never figured this out, so we’ll just pass on it.
And, you have to Keep Coming Back, It Works!
Okay, that last one is bullshit.