What happens at the lake …
To celebrate our milestone birthdays, my daughter and I planned a trip to Florida.
She turned 40 in January and I’m turning 60 in November, so in 2019 we began planning for a trip to Destin, Florida to soak up the sun. In order to act like we could afford this luxurious trip we all started saving up for a trip of a lifetime. My sister, niece, daughters and daughters-in-law booked a condo on the beach and were counting down the days until it became obvious it just wasn’t going to happen.
COVID again ruined my opportunity to make memories with the girls, and we ended up going to the Lake of the Ozarks, which is a far cry from the beach in Florida, and the water was too cold to even get wet. It may not have been the trip we had planned, but the four days in a house, on the lake, was so much fun we left with the saying of, “what happens at the lake, stays at the lake.”
I hadn’t given turning 60 much thought until I tried to get in, and out, of a paddle boat. When did my legs and arms become so weak I can’t pull myself up, or rather, when did I gain so much weight my arms can no longer handle it?
Either way, it wasn’t graceful, and I’m pretty sure I peed my swimsuit when I fell into the paddleboat butt first. Thank goodness the boat had already started taking on water.
It’s as though it happened overnight – I went from watching my girls every move at the lake to them watching me.
“Put on your lifejacket,” they said, “hold onto the railing.”
Like I’m a child all of all sudden. Sure I may have slipped a couple times while walking on the rocks, but who doesn’t?
With a blink of an eye my girls are now 40 and 35 and just like that I’ve become the grandma who might fall down and break something. I can’t even argue with them anymore as they have been taught well and always have the last say.
I can, and will, pat myself on the back for raising two of the most responsible, considerate, compassionate and loving women I’ve ever met. (I’m not at all biased.)
We’ve taken many trips to the lake, and typically I volunteer to be the one who doesn’t get a bed and would take the couch instead because that’s what moms do. The 60-year mile marker has given me a new status in the bed situation, and apparently I now get first dibs. (I think this decision was probably made more because of my snoring than age, but I’ll take it.)
Turning 60 isn’t going to be so bad after all except for the left thumb that has decided to not play well with the rest of the fingers and gives new meaning to snap, crackle and pop every time it’s in use.
It’s good entertainment for the grandkids. It’s not every day you can actually see a thumb pop in and out of place.
Sandy Turner lives in Independence. Email her at email@example.com.