“Peace: It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work. It means to be in the midst of all those things and still be calm in your heart.” ~ Unknown
This is the last day of my forties: light snow flurries and bitter cold. I’m told it was a day much like this when my mother went into labor. Twenty-two hours later, at two in the morning, I arrived at the old West Liberty Hospital where Bank of the Mountains now stands (what’s left of it after the tornado anyway). Unlike forty, the approach of which filled me with no small amount of dread for some reason I still can’t explain after ten years, I am actually quite proud to turn fifty tomorrow. I’ve survived a half century despite my ridiculously perilous/fearless ways; driving way too fast on mountain roads long before a seat belt law; playing in creeks filled with glass, cottonmouths, and God knows what else; sliding down muddy mountains, sometimes face first; traveling 80,000+ miles a year for years on end; taking my chances in every smoky beer-encrusted dive bar from New York to California, dodging drunk bar flies left and right, no doubt I passed a serial killer along the way, but who would know? They look like us; eating horrible, horrible foods, drinking horrible, horrible drinks; even a very bad gallbladder and extreme case of Mononucleosis didn’t take me out. Do you know how lucky I am to have lived this long, let alone live and be in good health, save for the allergies? I’m extremely fortunate. As loved ones have punched their time cards and walked on over the last few years, there has not been a single day that I don’t know just how lucky I am. I have been blessed beyond measure with devoted family, trusted friends, a good dog(s), strong mind and body, and an unquenchable need to do better, live better, and be a better human being. I don’t know what else anyone could ask for. Goodbye forties, and thanks for everything.
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