Half a Century

A couple of weeks back, my sisters, nieces, cousins, Mom and Aunt Nancy all got together at Grapevine to spend the weekend together. We had such a good time. A few days later I couldn't figure out why my hip was hurting so bad. I battle with arthritis in that hip but this was a different kind of pain. I bent over to pick something up off the floor and as I was contemplating my next move (how to get back up) it suddenly hit me why I was in such a painful mode. I flashed back to the hotel swimming pool. Someone had the bright idea to do a synchronized swimming routine. I don't know if you can call one move a routine, but nevertheless a routine was in the works. We all stuck one foot up in the middle of our circle and held on to each other's shoulders. That is when the hip cramp reared it's ugly head. If I hadn't been holding on to someone, I might have drowned one week before my 50th birthday. I didn't drown, but it is quite amazing how long a muscle will stay sore if it hasn't been worked in awhile and all the sudden it works real hard.
Christy sent me an email the other day to let me know that 50 years equals 600 months. That is a lot of full moons. It also equals over 18,000 days. There are several of those days I wish I could take back. I don't want to do them over, maybe just photoshop them a different color or maybe soften them a little. I know that even all the mistakes I've made in these many moons, have helped write my story. Thankfully, the Lord never left me. No matter what I did.
Speaking of photoshop, enjoy the pictures of the weekend with the girls and one boy. Little Eli came to celebrate with us. He's so beautiful. We also had little Avery there. She is my cousin Allen's granddaughter. She is precious. Allen's wife Gini is such a good grandma to this little doll. We set the lights up in the lobby of the hotel and took lots of pictures. The folks there were very gracious. Too gracious, if you ask me. They also let the girls put pictures of me all over the wall. Don't worry, girls, the tiara is in a safe place ready for the next 50th. I hope Randy won't mind wearing a hot pink shirt and let the rest of us wear black. I'm sure he'll be a good sport.
Maybe the whole hip thing means I really am getting old. Maybe the fact that I'm wearing pink and red glasses down on my nose to type this means I really am getting old. Cary Ann gave me a card that said " You're not old until the fat lady sings". You open it up and there is a picture of a fat lady with an opera voice holding a high note until you close the card. It is hilarious. I've been told that being old is just a frame of mind. So I'm going to take off these glasses (as soon as I'm done), take me some Tylenol Arthritis, ask Michael to rub my feet and forget that I ever heard that fat lady sing.