Turning 50

I am not the first, nor will I be the last, to write about turning 50.

However, I will only turn 50 in my lifetime, so it's significant to me.

I celebrated my birthday in Minneapolis, with my family, and a week early. Unknown to me, my husband had been planning the celebration for a year, when we found out in August that our children's "Nutcracker" auditions were on the day after my birthday.

Originally my birthday would have been perfect -- it was on a Saturday, and the same weekend as the Purdue-Minnesota football game; we could have celebrated in the afternoon, and gone to a football game in the evening.

However, there is always good in the bad. As it turns out, my godparents as well as a couple of other people would not have been able to make the party if it had been held on my birthday.

My party (a partial surprise, since I was told it would be at my aunt's -- no slouch location, since they have done benefit concerts there) was at the Nicollet Island Inn. It was a lovely dinner, with just the right number of people in attendance to make it a party, but few enough that I had a chance to talk to everyone at least once, and a few people at length.

It was a low-key party, with no speeches. However, DH did welcome everyone, and had prepared a slide show set to "Linus and Lucy." He had thought of really just about everything -- kids' menu type food for the kids, a choice of salmon or chicken (the salmon was a concession for him -- he hates fish), and a cake from Wuollet's, the world's best bakery.

In spite of a "no gifts" request, I still got gifts -- a lovely rosemaled plate, the Bing & Grondahl Christmas plate from 1957, my birth year, a Cartier watch, which I have to keep locked in our grounded safe when I'm not wearing it. People who didn't bring gifts brought cards, of course.

It was clear that a lot of thought had gone into the preparations. My husband remarked that he was glad it was over -- he doesn't like keeping things from me, even when it's a fun surprise. Most importantly, though, everyone seemed to have a good time. The entire weekend was so "right" that I don't think I could have asked for anything better.

But how do I feel turning 50? Really, I feel no different than 49. In fact, I can argue that I feel better than at 49, because I was surrounded with such love and consideration that I felt loved and important.

50 really isn't all that old -- my grandparents lived into their 90s (and even within spitting distance of 100), so I feel like I'm only halfway through my life. I'm in middle age, and probably have been for a while, which is a good place to be. I am a little sad that I can walk anonymously without attracting admiring glances from men, but really, that shouldn't be important, anyway.

Perhaps I never will feel very old -- after all, I'll always be younger than my big brother.

School Days, School Days...Dear Old Golden Rule Days...

Tomorrow is the first day of school. The supplies are all in desks and lockers, the first day of school outfits have been chosen, and the myriad of forms completed.

And significantly, tomorrow is the first day of middle school for my older child.

New bus time, too -- 6:57a.m. which will be a real b__ch when it's winter and dark outside. I am not sure I'm ready for my child to go to middle school. I often think that school systems should have a separate 6th grade campus to get them out of elementary school, but protect them from the harshness of middle school. Kids change so much between 6th and 8th grades, that is seems unfair to lump them in with kids who are years older than they are. Well, at least it seems that way.

We are relieved and proud that our child has been placed in advanced reading and mathematics. Boredom would come all too quickly otherwise. The math teacher was going on about what a challenge it is...until we mentioned the 99th percentile on the state standardized test. Then he started talking about the math club.

On the eve of middle school, I decided I had better break it to my older child that I am the Tooth Fairy. The news was taken with that accepting astonishment we have when we are finally told for sure that our parents are the ones who do those things. The younger one lost a tooth today, so the timing was good. I think the new knowledge, the being "in on it" has provided an exciting diversion from first day anxieties.

So, tomorrow the Tooth Fairy will come, the new bus routes will be tried out, and the new year in school begins.

The Erosion of Rights

How can we continue to stand by and watch the president and the Congress allow our rights to slip away?

For the Congress to grant approval to warrantless wiretapping is nothing short of absurd. The balance of powers has already erode to the point of being on the verge of an autocracy, with power being handed to a man who has little interest in the good of the nation.

Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, all the men who put their lives on the line for liberty (and even, I expect, those who opposed independency) would be appalled. George Washington wisely refused to be king, and left the office of the president before the people were willing to see him leave it, because he knew that it was important for the government to work.

Yes, terrorism is a terrible thing, and, yes, it it terrible partly because it circumvents the rules. But suspending the rules of the civilized world to try to eliminate it is not the answer. Like parenting, boundaries have to be set, and it is up to the people in charge to keep the boundaries. If we change the rules on the whim of the objector, we have anarchy.

We have a weak, wimpy Congress, with a majority that only does lip service to change, instead of forcing it. We need to see courageous choices, not safe, money-source-pleasing ones.

If we continue down this path, one of two things will happen. We will become a dictatorship under the rule of an idiot.

Or we will be governed by a Congress that is the pawn of the rich and influential.

It's not too late to change. Teddy Roosevelt stood up to corruption. Certainly the Congress can do the right thing.

The heartbreak in Minneapolis

For as long as I can remember, Minneapolis has been a magical place for me.

I was born there, and left there just shy of my 8th birthday to move to West Lafayette, Ind, on the banks of the Wabash, home of Purdue University, and boasting one of the top (if not the) school systems in the state.

But every summer, and many spring breaks and holidays, we would drive the 553 miles from our house to my grandparents' house on Elliot Avenue in south Minneapolis, where we were lovingly welcomed. In the summer, we played there, or at Lake Nokomis or Harriet with our cousins who lived not far away, and go to at least one Twins game at Met Stadium. If we were lucky, it would be a twinight double header. My grandfather would buy us a bag of peanuts and a drink, and every once in a while, a hot dog. During spring break, we would watch high school state hockey finals on television. And all year around we would head to the end of the block to the public park with swings, a baseball field and a wading pool.

Minnesota and Minneapolis is the setting for one of my favorite book series, the Betsy-Tacy books by Maud Hart Lovelace. She fictionalized her hometown of Mankato as Deep Valley, but Minneapolis stayed itself.

When I was an adult, I lived and worked in Minneapolis. I worked downtown, and lived, except for six months, in the city near the remarkable chain of lakes. It was like going home when I moved, because of the years of happy experiences and the love of family and friends we had there. For several years, I lived not far from where Maud placed Betsy and Joe's first house near Lake of the Isles.

When I married and moved away, Minneapolis remained for me "home." Although I have one brother in West Lafayette, and one in Minneapolis, and we will willingly travel to WL for a Purdue game, Minneapolis always seems to be the logical meeting place, "home." My mother, who lived in Indianapolis after West Lafayette, went back to Minneapolis to spend her last days when she was dying of cancer.

Minnesotans have always been proud of the high quality of life in the state, and for me, that was an aura that was almost magical. Tragedy happened in Minneapolis, but not often, and always on a small scale.

So when the I-35 bridge collapsed on Wednesday (a bridge I crossed hundreds of times), it was excrutiatingly shocking. Minnesotans aren't naive, they're too pragmatic for that. But with the quality of life comes the expectation of reasonable safety. And safe bridges falls in that realm.

The gleam of greatness has not left Minneapolis. But a pall of sadness has fallen over the city that will take a while to disappear.