When I turned 50 (some years ago!), my galpals thought it would be a stitch to amuse me with a small dinner party and a bunch of “now that you are so old (decrepit?)” gifts. You know, things like lip-line reducing balm, special circulation-friendly compression stockings, and an AARP letter magnifier. Someone offered to cut my food for me (eyeroll) and another made sure my then-teen daughter called to “check up on Mom to make sure she hadn’t wandered off.” 

Funny thing is, I didn’t really mind at all. I was flattered and I got a chuckle from their playfulness; and besides, I’m the youngest one in the bunch, so I have the last laugh anyway. (Have you ever heard the theory that 50 is the new 35? – ooh, never mind!) One of the more legitimate gifts I received was the Nora Ephron book, “I Feel Bad About My Neck… And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman.” The fashion magazines tell us that it’s the neck that gives away a woman’s age faster than anything—according to Ephron’s dermatologist, a woman’s neck starts to “go” at 43.

So, I suppose, now that I’ve left 50 way back in the dust, I’m expected to feel bad about my neck…but I don’t. My neck, like the rest of me, is a living record of where I’ve been and how I’ve lived. If it’s getting a wee bit wrinkled and a little saggy (and admittedly, it is), then so be it. In truth, my neck started to “go” much sooner than 43 – it began its march downward as soon as I started sticking it out, taking risks…and that was early on. It began getting “unsightly” folds and creases as soon as I allowed loved ones, children, and pets to burrow in for cuddles and comfort which was so long ago, I couldn’t say when.

When I turned 50, the small fellowship I was serving in Connecticut did, too. Their “neck” was a bit crinkly, as well, and maybe a little saggy (and this circumstance has played out in every congregation since, by the way). That hardy and hearty band of UUs had also stuck its neck out, held others in the comforting shelter of the neck’s crook, and has entered middle age without any need to hide its history or pretend to be “younger” than it is. There is wisdom in the wear and tear of making it to this momentous half-century mark for all of us, even congregations.

Here’s to another half century… for Eastrose, and if longevity medicine prevails, maybe me, too. But, it’s a longshot. And, by the way, the reason I like to wear a lot of turtlenecks during the winter IS NOT because I feel bad about my neck. I just feel bad about shivering through my sermons. Honest, you can trust me – I’m mature.