I live on this hill. This really STEEP hill. And as said hill is in California I have to weed whack this hill every $%#^% year. I used to to go out and whack it all in a couple days but after I heat stroked myself on it a couple years ago I tend to drag it out a few hours at a time, weekend after weekend. After weekend. But this morning I’d had it. I taped up my wrists, took a handful of Advil, and said, “Honey, I’ll be back when there’s not a weed standing!” For six hours I slid up and down the hill, cursing, changing line, letting sweat burn my eyes – no sense wiping it, there’s only more – bristling like a humongous hedgehog with all the foxtails stuck in my shirt, face, arms, gloves. I stopped only for more gas. And you know what? It’s done!! For another year, it’s done. My thumb is still numb. I can’t flex my right wrist and am typing with a brace on, but by god, it was worth it. The nice thing about 50 is I’ve learned to trust my timing. Years ago I would have struggled to get all the weed whacking done in two days, heatstroke and all, because I was afraid I would never have enough time to do it. Now I’ve learned to relax and trust that the right time will present itself. This morning it did. We were supposed to have the grandbaby this weekend but that got canceled, so there I was with a whole Sunday in my lap. The day was warm but not hot, nothing hurt, and no crisis needed my attention. So the damn hill got done. And the best part? Instead of raging and crying and hating the hill, I actually had a good time on it. Well, okay, maybe not when I slid into the poison oak, but for the most part, I enjoyed the steady challenge of it. Fifty has taught me to trust my timing. It helps me work smarter, not harder. I did work hard today, but not out of fear. I worked hard because I wanted to. Because the time was right.