Like a Good Bourbon

 Today is my 50^th birthday.  The 1972 t-shirt I wear calls me an original, and proclaims I’ve aged with perfection.

I can’t argue with that.

I have aged with perfection. The kind of perfection that comes forth after many years of not knowing, and then finally, one day, maybe in your late 40s, like me, you come to understand that all those imperfect moments, those hellish battles, those unbelievable assholes, and those tender moments of sadness are what mold you.

The decade leading up to this one has been the best of my life. I met and married the love of my life.  He was on his own pyramid of awesomeness, and he asked me to join him and his children at the top.  I barely had to climb. And the summit gave me more family - Mom, sisters, brother, brother-in-law, nephews and one of the cutest nieces ever.  

How can I have so many new incredible nieces and nephews, when the ones I already had were incredible?  Magic and mystery, grace and beauty.

My children are everything. Growing human beings with thoughts and fears, wit, wisdom, and greatness all their own. They are each turning into something spectacular. I spin in the same orbit, and pick up speed, and I have aged with them. Magical perfection.

My family growing up: The simple dysfunction of the Fuzzy family (including the amazing brother-in-law and awesome sisters-in-law who didn't run away from the dysfunction) made me who I am; and I am happy to call my sister my best friend, along with my brothers. We’ve shared grief and consolation, laughter and pain. I cannot envision better companions for that journey. How we got through it, how we’re still getting through it used to be perplexing, but the answers are clear. We have each other.

Mom. . . she and Dad have a place in my heart that holds the key to all my happiness. 

I have about a dozen friends that I can call up at any time – day or night – and they will answer, and we will talk like not one day has passed – laughing, crying, or solving a crisis. I have that in my life.

I have a "Swat" team of cousins, cousins-in-law, 2nd, 3rd, once removed, etc. . . cousins.  Lots and lots of cousins whom I love and adore; and who share the same passion for food and laughter.

I have a network of writer friends that I cherish. Though I only know tidbits of their personal life, I have so much more because through their writing, I know their soul; and I’ve had the pleasure of sharing my soul with them.

This morning, I walked my new puppy, and the happiest dog I have ever known. (I had Gracie for many years, and because we were besties, I swear she brought me Dovi). She knew what I deserved. 

On my walk, I envisioned my dad walking beside me – I shared my thoughts with him about turning 50, still wanting to accomplish so much more – wanting to be a better daughter to Mom, a better sister to my siblings, a better friend, a better companion, a better mother. . .

“Just be.”

That’s what I heard as I looked up to the sky and watched a young hawk fly in circles above me.

And I know you'll take comfort in knowing you've been roundly blessed and cursed

But love is a power greater than death, just like the songs and stories told  

(Springsteen, Terry's Song)

John Milton (Paradise Lost), Bram Stoker (Dracula), Sue Monk Kidd (The Secret Life of Bees), and Anna Sewell (Black Beauty) were all over fifty when they published their first novel. When I turned forty, my wish was to find someone who loved me for me, for who I was and who I would become. Today, my wish is to publish as many books as I can write for the next 50 years.

I’ll end with this. . . Dolores O’Riordan, (who got me through college and law school), died in 2018 and would’ve been fifty in September 2021. She’s the lead singer of The Cranberries and walked with me and Dad today.  She had a lot to say. 

Too young, too proud, too foolish
Too young, too proud, too foolish

You ask a lot of questions
You have too much time on your hands
To hell with conclusions
Why should we make so many plans?

So you should come away with me
You should come away with me
You should have some faith in me

Tomorrow could be too late

I told you at the start – I’ve aged with perfection.

Happy 50^th, Dolores.  Sorry you didn’t make it, but glad you’re still so alive. . .