I am beginning this emotional chronology 4 days before my 50th birthday. I’m OK about it. Really. Really I am. My husband Bob is planning a surprise. I’m excited.

“How does it feel to be almost 50?” Bob asked this morning.

“Great! I don’t go for the hype. It’s only a number.”

Now it’s 3 days before my birthday. And I’m crying.

“It’s just a state of mind,” Bob said, patting my shoulders.

“Yeah. Like a heart attack.”

“Life begins at 50,” he said.

I pointed to my droopy chest. “Tell that to these. They died last week.”

Now it’s 2 days before my birthday.

“I’m staying in bed.”

“Come on,” he coaxed. “You look terrific for  . . .  ”

I looked up at him with my Murphy Brown grimace. “Ah hah! For what, Bob? For fifty? How about I look good for a forgetful, sleepless, loose skinned, low slung, night vision-less person who spends three quarters of the day yelling, ‘It’s HOT in here!’?”

“That’s not exactly what I meant.”

It’s the day before my birthday.

I can’t stop singing. “Nooooo - body knooows  . . .  the troubles I’ve seen.” I haven’t showered. I’m wearing a ratty old bathrobe that used to be yellow. And the cat won’t come near me.

“You have to stop this!” Bob shook my shoulders.

I slowly looked up at him, saw the love in his eyes, knew the concern in his heart, felt his gentle strong arms holding me up by my shoulders and sluggishly belted out, “Fifteen tons  . . .  and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt.”

He dropped me.

So the birthday arrived. We had planned a quiet day at the movies  . . .  I thought.

Bob lugged me out of bed. “Please shower,” he said. “The dog’s rolling around on your bathrobe.”

After my shower, I felt better. That was because I opened a huge present.

“Oooooh! Fortune cookies! I love them!”

Bob had found a company that makes, with a minimum order of 200, individually wrapped fortune cookies with personalized messages. One message was, “Nobody doesn’t like Saralee.” I’d love to tell you the others, but even Bob, as sweet as he is, can have really bad taste.

And then, I knew something else was in the works because Bob was behaving like a maniac. 

“Hurry up!” He grabbed another present out of my hands, tossed it on the couch and pushed me out the door.

“Hey!” I said. “If we’re late, we’ll just miss the previews.”

When we got to the theater, there was a ticket line with over 40 people. A red flush rose from Bob’s neck and he started shaking.

“I’d rather you not drop dead on my birthday, Bob.”

“Get popcorn!” he yelled, pushing me away.

“You see?” I said when we got to our seats. “It’s still previews.”

Then I heard a loud and unusual murmuring in the audience. I looked around, expecting perhaps a surprise party. But nobody was looking at me. They were staring at the screen.

I looked up to see what the ruckus was about. They weren’t showing previews anymore. Instead, in beautiful cinematic color and filling the whole screen was, HAPPY 50TH BIRTHDAY, SARALEE! LOVE, BOB.

There were no ads for the theater company at the movies that day. And the previews were cut short. And that was so Bob could make my day spectacular, and along with that, my life of course.

And so I learned 3 things.

1. Bob knows hi-tech folks at a film production company who, with 3 wonderfully open-minded people who work at the theater, figured out how to make this happen.

2. With age, windows close. With age, windows open. Much of the closing and opening is our own doing.

3. The people at the fortune cookie company should have had Bob arrested.