Today is my birthday. I never make a big deal out of it because not only is it right after Christmas, it’s also the day after my sister’s birthday. We shared a cake for years – my half always had 3 more candles on it, and my birthday outfits were 3 sizes bigger. Her toys were blue, mine red. Whatever they were.

So when people ask what I’m doing for my birthday, I tend to answer with a blank stare. Today it’s not just because of the usual post-Christmas stupor, it’s because this year, I don’t feel any older. I don’t feel 49. I don’t even feel my sister’s age, 46. I don’t know what age I feel. Some days I feel 22, ready to conquer the world. Sometimes I feel 8, and the world is still full of wonder.

So for my birthday I asked for a power drill. Hear me out now – it’s the perfect gift for a 49-year-old woman.

Despite his misgivings, Bob got me a top of the line cordless DeWalt with a light on the front and enough horsepower to cut through metal (and a compass in the stock and this thing which tells time). It’s heavy and serious – like it could build or tear down anything.

What am I going to do with this thing? Drill, baby, drill. Hang mini-blinds and install light fixtures. Fix what’s broken and spruce up what’s ugly. Hold it in the air like Tim the Toolman Taylor and grunt “RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!”

That’s my response to the looming Big 5-0.