You are ticking along minding your own business; days morph to weeks, weeks to months, month into years, and suddenly you hit a milestone.  In the grand scheme of things it is just another day in the life, but it appears to be a magic number.

I got my ‘so now you are 50’ welcome package from the provincial government. Two pieces of mail letting me know that, seeing as I am the magical half century, I now get to look forward to people I don’t know scanning and probing areas I have spent a life time keeping mostly to myself.  Positive, encouraging language, acronyms, and with some subtle urgency I was invited to take steps to protect my health. I figure anything that requires me to don a open backed gown is not anything I particularly want to do.  A reminder that, despite how I feel age and health wise, the vehicle in which I transport my conscience is fallible and degrading.  I figure I will “suck it up, buttercup” and begrudgingly accept this new facet in the process of living.  I will book my appointment, get my kit, and mail poop (a special thing reserved for those of us fifty. Lucky us.)