Staying Alive At Fifty-five

Full disclosure:  Don’t let the title of this blog post mislead you.  

I am not fifty-five,

but I am staying alive.

A few weekends ago, I gathered with my high school classmates for our fifty-fifth reunion.  When the invitation to the gathering arrived in the mail months ago, I saw that the theme for the occasion was: fifty-five and staying alive.  At my age staying alive all these years after high school graduation is something to celebrate, and in truth, the sobering fact is that so many of my classmates did not live to see this reunion.  

I’ve thought about that theme a great deal since our gathering.  Here are some lessons I’d like to share with you.

Lessons learned at my 55th high school reunion 

• Stay connected!  I made some of the most amazing friends in high school.  Thankfully, these friends are among my dearest friends today.  Do you know why?  It is because we have taken the time to stay connected.  And when I say connected, I mean connected.  Not only do we meet on a regular basis (four times a year), but we also take the time at these gatherings to really share about what is going on in our lives.  Without a doubt, no matter what, I know these girls will be there for me until my last breath, and I will also be there for them.  They are among my dearest and closest friends.
  

A month before our reunion we realized we had not met for way too long because when we set up our yearly schedule for gatherings, we had decided to wait until the reunion to meet after our early spring gathering.  In July, we had an impromptu meeting and those who could went to lunch.  There is something really special that happens when a bunch of 70+ year old ladies meet for lunch and spend the afternoon laughing.  Kathy, seated at the far end of the table on the left, planned the lunch and gave us each a rose as we left.  

• Laughter makes you look younger!. Find those friends that make you really laugh.  When you laugh, the wrinkles around your eyes and your lips come from laughter so you can fool people into thinking that you are younger and don’t really have any wrinkles.  “Those wrinkles!  They aren’t from age. They are only there when I laugh.”  Well, maybe not, but I am convinced that laughter not only makes you look younger, it also makes you feel younger. 

• The eyes never age.  I look into the eyes of some of my girlfriends from high school and I see the same girl I used to tap on the shoulder in English class while we were reading A Tale of Two Cities and ask her if she had the answer to the question I didn’t quite get.  I see her blue eyes, and we are both sixteen again.  I know her life story and know it has been filled with triumph and tragedy, but to me she is both a naive girl of sixteen and mature grandmother of 73.  Those eyes connect hearts and those connections have deepened over the decades.  In each other’s eyes and hearts, we will never really age.

• Guys still love their cars, so pose with them beside their cool cars.  This guy restored this old car.  He and his car both look amazing.  

• Treasure friendships that span the generations. Tell the stories that include those whom are no longer with us.  This guy’s parents were best friends with my best friend’s parents.  I remember those days when our parents were all still alive and they all would gather together for a summer evening barbecue.  They would be laughing and telling stories, and we would be the kids listening to their stories of long ago.  Now, our parents are gone, and we are left to remember those times and tell the stories of long ago.   It seems that as we age, there are fewer and fewer of our acquaintances whom knew our parents.
• High school sweethearts are the best kind of sweethearts to have.  I came home from my fifty-fifth high school reunion with the very best gift that my time in high school ever gave me: my high school sweetheart, the love of my life, my hubby.  
  

Fifty-five and staying alive is something to celebrate.

I’m so very grateful I had the blessing of being able to do so.

Strands of Silver

I thought I would be brave and that I would not cry,

But cry I did,

When I made that call to have my 

strands of silver 

shorn.  

Shorn.

So many images come to mind when I speak the word.

Sheep in the pasture after shearing look so 

Naked.

So exposed.

Powerless,

 they are led to the shearing shed

 where their wool is cut and gathered.

Shorn.

The word can be used to describe depriving someone from power once wielded.

Shorn.

Yes, the days when my hair could be brandished,

Shown off for its natural curl and color,

Are gone.

I held on to those silver curls 

Because I needed to twirl them in my fingers,

Wash them,

Shake them out,

Ply them,

Remember when once they wielded power over all the other girls with straight locks whom looked at me with envy after a day of swimming.

In those days,

Days of my youth,

I did not flaunt my curls on purpose.

In fact,

I did not love them.

I did not embrace them.

I fought them.

I straightened them.

Tape.

Orange juice cans.

Wrapping strands of hair on great big rollers

Before I went to bed.

Blow driers.

Hot irons.

Curling irons.

Reverse perms.

I tried them all methods I ever knew of to try to achieve the looks the other girls had.

I did not want my curls.

I did not want those unique locks.

Curls 

have always been a major part of my identity.

There once was a little girl

With a little curl

Right in the middle of her forehead.

That was me.

When I was older,

I let my hair go silver, and it was a beautiful silver.

I also learned to embrace my curls.

And then,

I began to lose those silver strands of hair.

Strand,

By 

Strand

Hair fell from my head over many days and nights.

Eight years of days and nights where hair fell out.

Silver would cover my clothing.

Silver strands would tangle in my fingers as I washed my hair.

It was a 

Slow

Shedding

Of

Silver 

Strands.

Shorn

By a strange disease,

Scars

Replaced where each of my hair 

follicles once flourished.

Today, 

I ran my fingers through those very few 

strands of silver

for

one last time.

My fingers where tangled in the 

silver strands

that have been deserting me.

 

Silver strands on a headband

I am done.

It is now time 

to wield

 my own power.

Today, I will be 

Shorn

Of these 

Silver strands forever.