Today I didn't even have to use my A.K., I got to say it was a good day

I turned 49 a week and a half ago.

That same day I went skiing and pushed myself hard, skiing through trees (which I had basically never done before) and burning my legs out on moguls. Then that night I went out for a fun birthday outing.

It's always fun to celebrate something, and a birthday is as good an excuse as any. I'm shameless about asking for a free drink or dessert. I mean, all they can say is "no," right?

On a deeper level, though, I have no idea what that number means. I mean, obviously, I understand the numerical value of 49. But as an age - as my age - I don't know how to feel.

I know how my children feel. They think I'm fucking ancient. Josie has been fascinated by my age for a while now. It's become a running joke that I'll go skiing with the kids and sometimes we'll get in the single line because it's quicker, and then meet up at the top. Invariably, Josie will start chatting with the people on her chair lift, and by the time they get to the top, they know all about me, including that I've got one foot in the grave, at least according to my daughter.

Often they will wait with her until I arrive, and say, "we know everything about you. We know where you've lived, where you've traveled, what you do for a living, how old you are..."

"She's 49!" Josie will repeat.

They laugh. "She's adorable!"

Whatever.

As an age, 49 is sort of unremarkable. It's the last time I can say I'm in my late forties, but it's not quite 50. Now 50 - that feels insane to me. My grandmother was 50 when I was born. When I was younger, 50 was super close to death.

But I don't feel old. I don't even feel middle aged. I have friends my age who refer to themselves as middle-aged and I'm always taken aback by it.

I hear and read about women reaching a certain age - i.e., my age - and starting to feel invisible. They lament that while men in their late 40s and early 50s are still considered attractive and virile, women of the same age fade away in the eyes of society.

I feel fortunate that that has not been my experience, at least not yet. Physically I feel as strong as I ever have. My skin is holding up pretty well. By virtue of not having been able to breast-feed, my boobs are still relatively perky. Men, particularly younger men, still notice me.

As my friend Ali observed, "yeah, 50 is the new 30 or whatever. Of course, 60 is still 60, so...."

I've got some time.

And honestly, I'm very happy with where I am in my life. I have a wonderfully rewarding career. I'm strong and healthy and in shape, particularly since I lost 10 pounds doing Weight Watchers. My kids are great, I have friends and family whom I love. I live in a place that lets me pursue things I love, like skiing and hiking and travel and culture.

Maybe that's the best thing about being in your late 40s. You can enjoy life more because you have lost  the ability to give a fuck about stuff that's inconsequential. I don't worry about the opinions of people I don't know, or who I'm not connected to emotionally. I'm confident in my abilities. Nothing makes me nervous. I feel prepared for whatever comes.

I can't feel the weight of age when I'm still jumping at the chance to see Snoop Dogg, Ice Cube and Warren G at Red Rocks next month. Or flying down mountains with Zeke, going as fast as we can go. Or climbing fourteeners. Or surf camp in Mexico. That's all got to count for something, right?

So I'll keep on keeping on and feel fine about it.

I can freak out next year when I turn 50. For now I'm good.

Happy birthday to me

Fear of fire, or why I won't marry for money

I was leaning over the stove trying to scrape ground turkey that had accidentally fallen on the side of the pot rather than into it, when I was making a batch of chili.

Suddenly I smelled something burning.

I looked to the counter and saw that a paper towel that was too close to the flame had caught fire. I had a flash of "aaaauuuughhhh," and then, because there was no one else to deal with it, I picked up the non-burning end, tossed it into the sink, and turned the water on.

I had a very different reaction when my mother and I were cooking Thanksgiving dinner in November and we opened the oven door to discover that the oven wasn't just preheating to cook the turkey roulade - it was on fire.  Flames were shooting out from the bottom pan of the oven.

I am terrified of fire. I consider myself relatively fearless - I don't worry about being mugged or eaten by bugs or of walking by myself at night. But fire - and particularly kitchen fires - seriously freak me out.*  Maybe reading too many news articles in the Times of India about dowry killings when we were there - mothers-in-law who murdered their new daughters-in-law, but it was always made to look like a mysterious kitchen fire.

Although I suppose that if I need to be worried about being burned up in a dowry fire, I would have to be married to someone whose family only wanted me for my dowry. At this point in my life, I don't think my parents would pay someone to take me off their hands. And I'm certainly not forking over the cash. I don't have any particular desire to get married anyway. So there. Eat shit, imaginary future mother-in-law.

Anyway.

My mom and I looked at each other. We are both intelligent, sensible, highly educated people. But we were paralyzed.

What do we do??

My brother Josh was sitting calmly at the kitchen table reading the newspaper.

I said, "JOSH! What do we do when the oven's on fire???"

Josh is always a calm presence. He's level headed. He knows what to do. He doesn't freak out.

He came over to the oven. There was obviously some substance or object burning under the bottom pan, but we couldn't figure out what it was. A number of options were thrown out.

One of them involved trying to smother the fire with flour. That ended up just making a mess.

Finally Josh figured out how to remove the lower pan. What we found was a ton of dog food, some of it in flames. No one could understand how any of it got there.  We cleaned it out.

Buster must have been to blame. But Josh saved the day.

That's what he does.

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*I am also terrified of birds, but that's another story.