Lovely Day, Lovely Day...a Lovely Day

Hill Country Chicken, A Fresh Fried Chicken Joint in the Flatiron district for breakfast. That biscuit was beyond the best I've had ever. The potatoes were crisp, each one! And not oily. Flavors were so balanced and no heavy afterfeel. Overall, better than I could have imagined. A living dream actually.

Marinated Sirloin Steak bites with Bloody Mary dipping sauce. Mom's Cheese Enchiladas with Chipotle Shrimp tacos highlighted with pineapple pico.

Thank the good Lord and father time that P is now 50 years OLD just like me. I don't have to worry about being 'older' until the 60 mark and by then I doubt these things will matter much. He too has received his AARP card membership paperwork and suddenly it's no joke. 50 is like New York, it's big. But not how your brain acknowledges or defines big. No, this is different. When you actually live it, you see that big means so many different things that you had no idea. It's hundreds of separate neighborhoods and gathering areas where tons of people go everyday while you are out there totally unaware because where you are is also crowded and it's own little ecocenter. It all seems manageable until you grip the scope of the condensation. Diverse are the people that pass you on the streets, in the museums and in your bodega but how diverse is key. Some people are nothing like you. Yes, we are all actually very different and not the same like you were taught. I'm not talking about race or class or ethnicity, I'm just talking about people. It's not the size of the city but the millions of layers of 'things'. When you turn 50 you think of the traditional definition of 'getting older' but it's nothing like that. It's about where the hell you are in your life. Decisions that have been made by time itself that now you can no longer ignore or deny. It's your 21 year old self looking at your physical reflection and finding a way to relate to this person staring back at them. Without judging. Because that 21 and 16 and 18 year old, has 'the list' in their hand. The list of promises made. The list you were supposed to fill. Remember that list? They do. Leading up to 50 you are in fear of 'becoming'. Turning 50 you are faced with the bill. You sit and read all the charges and you accept it and your ass pays up and invites reality in no matter what. Mainly because there is no choice. You are no longer in a position to negotiate. History has been written. This far at least. 50 is an asshole. 50 is not cool like me and you. 50 is a tax accountant. No one you ever wanted in your life. But since he's living here now you gotta find a way to make it work.
I'm sure this too shall pass and all that malarky. I am super excited about living beyond it and still aiming for some of those dreams on that list, condensed as it is. My sister M says 60 is way cooler. But I thank the Good Lord that P is finally here with my dumb ass just the same.