When Skinny Grandma Turned 55

(Before I tell you what I really want to tell you here, let me say that as far back as I can remember, my Sister, Claudia, and I always referred to our grandmothers as Skinny Grandma (my Dad’s mom) and Fat Grandma (my Mom’s mom). And the weird thing is, Skinny Grandma wasn’t skinny — or fat; and Fat Grandma wasn’t fat — or skinny. Note to self: Ask Mom where those nicknames originated.)

Anyway, I remember like it was — I don’t know — four years ago, when Skinny Grandma turned 55. And I vividly recall that I felt mournful, sad and confused. I mean, why in the world were we celebrating and singing and eating cake?  55 years old!  Are you kidding me? At that old age, surely we should be planning her funeral. I was convinced that she and Grandpa (we did not call him Skinny Grandpa) were not long for this Earthly world, that they’d be going to heaven soon…within months, certainly within the year!

I can picture so clearly the five of us grandkids in the back yard of their pinkish adobe house (wasn’t it?) in San Bernardino, California, cavorting and frolicking and singing around sweet Skinny Grandma as she made her wish and blew out the candles on her birthday cake. And since she was, after all, knocking on death’s door, I remember feeling so relieved that she had to blow out only five candles.

Reality, thankfully, proved my thoughts and fears wrong. She indeed wasn’t decrepit, or past her prime, or close to meeting her expiration date. She remained active, healthy and vibrant for many, many years thereafter.

But here’s the irony of life, or more accurately, the circle of life.  Now it’s my turn. In six months and two days, I turn 55.

OMGsh!
But it’s all good…
I no longer look at 55 with horror and fear, through 7-year-old eyes, like I did with Skinny Grandma. And in 10 years, when I’m 65, I bet you anything I’ll look back longingly at my “young” 55-year-old self, wondering where the time went. You know what I mean?
It’s all relative.
It is what it is.
Savor the moments.
And remember…THESE are the good old days.
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About Me

It's true! Despite playing defense virtually all my life against the onslaught of this sometimes-ugly aging process, it...has...arrived! I naively thought I would escape cellulite (the Cottage Cheese) and crow's feet (the Crepe Paper). But I didn't! And why didn't anyone tell me about this emotional roller-coaster that comes with being an Empty-Nester?! My name is Jodie Barringer Myers. I'm a 54-year-old Friday/chardonnay/ hydrangea-loving wife/mom/court reporter living in Sacramento (Gold River!), California. Writing is cathartic for me. And because I look to find humor and humility among the rubble that is my now very peri-menopausal self, I'm hopeful that you will laugh, cry, learn, enjoy and, most of all, relate to what I have to say. After all, we're all in this together, right?

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