I’m not talking about the decade of the 1950s. I am talking about the ages of 50 to 59 in life.
Since this year I will be finally moving out of the 50s, I have earned the right to share how disgusting my 50s were for me. I will start by sharing the obvious things:
(WARNING: Heavy laughter may follow.)
Sagging: The obvious one that everyone talks about. You hit 50 and all of a sudden EVERYTHING starts to sag. Now, I was endowed with a rather large front end. I should say cursed! It has been a burden all of my life, and every time I thought I had a chance to remove part (most) of it, something else happened. My timing was ALWAYS off, now I have issues with high blood pressure, so it’s an iffy surgery. To those of you out there with the same affliction all, I can tell you is DON’T WAIT FOR THAT RIGHT MOMENT – GET IT DONE NOW! The reason is obvious – sagging big-time later in life (and it is not a pretty sight at the beach).
(Droopy’s cheeks and camel humps – put that on the front of a woman and that’s a sight of wanting to go blind for!)
Bagging: Another semi-obvious occurrence that happens when one gets older. My over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder does not support as it used to. (Yes, I am talking about my bra.) I still buy the same brand as it has never failed me; however, now they do not seem to hold up as long as they used to. I am blaming bagging. If the boulders were not so baggy (kind of goes with the saggy automatically), the holder-upper would not be so strained therefore could last longer? Perhaps. Then there is the backside. I have a pronounced bootie to match my saggies upfront. This part I am blaming on having a desk job too long connected with my love of all things pastry. Yes, it is my own fault – but did the sucker have to go so far into baggy era? I mean a little drooping I can understand, but when you trip over yourself stepping backward it’s not a good thing!
Tagging: This one some of you may be lucky enough to have never had to deal with – skin tags (age spots are in this category as well). I was scratching my shoulder in the back, and my fingernail caught something. I thought maybe I had scratched myself there without knowing and now accidentally ripped off the scar tissue. But NOOOO – I actually ripped off a skin tag!? That tiny sucker bleed like I had slashed open my back? I swear that these are produced by nasty little Age Gremlins that sneak into my room at night and spit on me. They were never on my body until after age 50, and now they are showing up in the strangest places (damn Age Gremlins!)?
Dragging: I am not talking about the effects of sagging or even bagging (although when I bend over to pick up something, it could be construed as such.), I am talking about lack of sleep. Our favorite over 50 phrase appears to be “my butt is dragging” which interpreted means: I need more sleep. It becomes impossible to get more than 4-6 hours of sleep per night without some type of over-the-counter medication. Then when I do get up, I seem to be yawning all day long.
When I was in my twenties and thirties, I was proud of the fact that I was able to work two or three jobs at a time, go to classes to better myself part time, and raise my disabled daughter (including her 20 years of surgeries). I bought a home, a vehicle and even found time to take mini-vacations with my daughter and mom. Now I would love a vacation – but this time to someplace quiet, peaceful, and out in the middle of nowhere. Throw in a huge snuggle chair next to an awesome fireplace for reading, and a hot tub to really relax (FYI – if you can put that in a “cabin in the woods” form and I may never leave. Something very soothing about sitting in a hot tub while the snow is falling gently outside. (Yes – been there, done that.)
We purchased a stationary bike after my surgeries to help my knees maintain strength. It’s stationary alright. It sits there laughing at me every day. First, I kept it downstairs right outside my bedroom so I would have the incentive to get on it every morning. That didn’t work because I MUST have my morning coffee before anything! Then we moved it upstairs right smack in the middle of the living room. This was last New Year day (2018), and I was really into the step counting thing for a while (per my sisters challenge to me). Then, as always, something happened. In this case, it was grown kids that we tried to help that shit on us, and we had to clean up the mess. That was followed by a tornado and the death of our oldest sister (unexpected). Last, but not least, thing was grandsons nose-bleeds-from-hell. Ended up taking him to a specialist to get the suckers to stop (would pour out of his nose like he was some nasty red faucet? Yuck!). Thus, bike on a back burner.
Here we are in a new year with new goals (mine, remember, is to have a boring year – no drama) and I have only sat on that monster twice – SHAME ON ME! This morning my sister threw it in my face. She was up at the butt-crack of midnight and:
- On the bike for 30-minutes (Fricken Speed Racer-grr)
- Cleaned the kitchen.
- Planted more seed starts.
- Made a bunch more waffles to freeze for the grandson
- Made up a pot of Chicken Alfredo AND noodles this time (last was in potpie form)
- Took a shower
- Got dressed and ready for work
- Made her lunch and oatmeal for her breakfast.
WHAT A SHOW OFF! Dang – the guilt it too much! Now I have to get back on the monster and hope my saggy baggy backend doesn’t slide off the seat!
You can also check me out at: www.helbergfarmstories.com for fun stories from our farm.