Yesterday was my fifty-first birthday. It was as quiet day, no fuss and no muss, just the way I wanted it. Gerry bought me a big comfy manager chair for my office, there were birthday greetings from family and friends, and a special piece of turtle cheesecake after dinner, but all-in-all it was a day just like any other.
My fiftieth birthday was similar in some ways, but it felt significant in that I was crossing over into a new decade. There was a bit of apprehension as I considered what being fifty meant. Now that I’ve passed that milestone, I expect that birthdays will be fairly insignificant until I reach the next milestone.
Sixty, you’re thinking? No, fifty-five. Why? Two words: retirement eligible.