Allan´s Weblog

The other night, a few days ago, I sat thinking as I sometimes do.

I was thinking that I would soon turn fifty, which is in fact half a bloody century. I was born in the decade when rock'n'roll was born. I was a child during the cold war and the booming economies of the sixties. I remember the hippie days, peace love and understanding. I was young when Europe was scarred by terrorism and war, yet my youth was mostly about education, girls and finding a way in society. In my late twenties I spend most of my effort on getting a grip on my life and getting my act together. I got married at 29 and became mostly economical independent at 40.

Yesterday was my fiftieth birthday, I was blessed with an absolutely crowded house filled to the rim just as all the glasses in everybody's hands. Much cheering, eating, raising of glasses and celebrating all over the place. A wonderful, wonderful day thanks to my wife and my family and friends. I can only say that I am one lucky, fifty year old man.

The before mentioned night when I sat contemplating over the passed years, I came to the conclusion that "50" is nothing but a number. Two digits. So what?
But now, as I sit here after my big day, looking at myself tired to the bones, with my slippers on and the newspaper handy, I feel I have to admit that these two digits just might be a bit more concrete than just a number.

Ladies and gentlemen, this tired man with the slippers is now officially fifty, in every sense of the word.

That's fine.