The Throbbing Thrill of Fifty...

One week until fifty.

In a true tribute to the way I've lived the past 49 years and 51 weeks, I didn't get around to the insightful daily tributes to turning 50 that I had planned for this month. At least I had a plan. That's a big improvement over the previous 49 years and 49 weeks.

The full impact of 50 is still creeping up on me. Today I was blindsided with another reminder of ownership of a half-century old body. I was excited that Dan Brown's newest book is being released with a large print version.

Large print? When did that happen? My ninety-seven year old grandmother reads those beach trash novels. The ones where a buxom English peasant girl is being ravished by the wealthy land owner until the true heir to the kingdom--disguised as the owner of the local pub--swoops in to save her virtue. Or at least claim it for himself. They're always full of delicate references to the hero's throbbing manliness and the tingling thrill of the virginal heroine. My granny churns through those things. In small print. The ones where the words look like thousands of tiny little ants crowded onto the page.

I had to give up beach novels ten years ago. Couldn't see to read them. Not even with the bi-focals that landed on my face some five years ago. I used to love to crawl into a warm bed on a winter evening and read a good trashy novel until late at night.

Now I tuck myself in at 9 PM with the large print version of Reader's Digest. It's not just the large type that appeals to me. It's those short articles and stories. Falling asleep by 9:15 makes it tough to get through anything classic. Or hot and trashy.