Irene Smith

This is going to be a short post tonight. I’ve been fighting with a ‘flu for the past two weeks, it’s late, and I’m tired.

I had my 50th birthday this week. I find it hard to believe (somehow I don’t remember when I became this old) but there it is. I imagine that a lot of the complaining that I’ve been doing lately has something to do with adjusting to–what? middle age? early old age? I’ve reached a point in my life where most people are satisfied with who they have beomce or they are busy bemoaning their fate and trying to understand what went wrong. Me? I’m thinking about going back to school. I’m thinking about trying to start a whole new career, and I’m looking forward to the birth of my fifth grandchild.

Then again, while I was far advanced with intellectual things like reading and writing and ‘rithmetic, I’ve always been behind the curve when it comes to social and career milestones. For example, I didn’t buy my first car until I was nearly 30 years old and didn’t marry until I was 35. And yet in usual fashion for me, it all worked out well because when I did marry, I married a man with two grown-up children. I became a grandmother before I gave birth for the first time.

Lately it seems as though a lot of things have been going badly wrong. My father died, I had a credit card taken away from me (not that the loss of a credit card compares to my father’s death) and I can’t seem to get any reaction to my writing but “thanks, but no thanks.” I’ve been tired and sick and just feeling sorry for myself. Then this weekend came along and I had to admit that things aren’t so bad after all.

In fact, so far this weekend has been absolutely perfect. Two of my granddaughters came to spend Thursday and Friday night with us. We played computer games together, we talked, we made pizza and we watched movies. Then tonight my step-son and daughter-in-law came with my grandson and we all went out to dinner. I looked around that the table for eight at the restaurant tonight and thought, “How can anybody be luckier than this?”

It got me thinking about how very lucky I really am in so many ways. For example (and this is in no particular order):

• True, my father died. On the other hand, he was 85 years old and I was nearly 50. I have some close friends whose parents died before they graduated high school. My son has been lucky enough to know his grandfather and my father was around long enough to see that he did a good job raising me. I know he was proud of me.
• I was lucky enough to have my paternal grandmother in my life until I was in my 40s. She died at the age of 99 in 2003 when I was 44 years old.
• I have a husband who loves me so much that he was willing to move from New York State to Washington State (and greater love hath no man for woman, than to drive across country with a nearly 3-year old child) and then to pick up and move back again 4 years later when my father had a stroke.
• I dearly love both of my step-children and their spouses. When my husband and I were married, my step-daughter was Maid of Honor and my step-son Best Man.
• I adore all four (soon to be five) of my grandchildren.
• I have a good job at a time when many people have lost theirs through no fault of their own.
• We managed to get a mortgage for a brand new house right before everything fell apart. I love my home and so did my father when he visited us. Our home is a place where friends feel welcome and I love entertaining.
• I have good friends who care about me.
• My husband is still addicted to me even though we’ve been together for nearly 25 years.

Who could ask for anything more? It would just be greedy.