Posts Tagged ‘birthday’
As I perused the pictures my baby sister Marcia sent me this spring via Facebook, I noted only one of just her and me. That’s not that surprising; I have not a lot of memories of things she and I did alone together. There were many things the THREE of us did together: Leslie, 16 months younger, and Marcia, five years my junior. Also, Leslie and I sang together, and Leslie and Marcia shared a room.
Still, there was one thing Marcia and I did together that was just ours, without Leslie or my parents Read the rest of this entry »
Last year, the Daughter was at least 4′6″; now she’s very close to 4′10″ (147 cm). There are some adults she’s practically looking in the eye. I’m only 5′11.5″, but my wife is about 5′10″ and her brothers are all about 6′3″, so I can only imagine how tall she’ll get to be.
After performing in the Nutcracker, she seems to have tired of formal ballet lessons, though she’s forever moving about about and even choreographing for her cousins and friends.
She discovered soccer in the fall, and I suspect she’ll do that again. She liked doing field hockey in school Read the rest of this entry »
Karen I’ve known since kindergarten, and we went from K through 12th grade together in Binghamton, NY. Back in seventh grade or so, she really got into astrology. I don’t mean just looking at the daily newspaper column, but doing a serious investigation. While I wasn’t a true believer, I found it eerie how accurate they could be. She was born only 46 hours after I was, so there was some overlap between hers and mine.
When we were in high school, there was this silly rule that, when you were running for student government, you could not give your own nominating speech. I gave Karen’s when she ran for secretary, a speech that everyone said was one of the best ever. She won. The following year, they changed the rules so that the candidate gave the speech; my address for myself, running for president, was not nearly as good, by my own reckoning (I won anyway).
In 1977, when I was adrift, she gave me a real (verbal) kick in the butt. In the early 1980s Read the rest of this entry »
When I turned 50, I could think, “Maybe I still have another half a lifetime left.” After all, the number of centenarians in the United States has been growing. Willard Scott, with whom I share a birthday, BTW, still announces the birthdays of those over 100 on NBC-TV’s TODAY show, as far as I know.
Now that I am 60, though, I have to acknowledge that I’m not going to live another 60 years, even if I move to Azerbaijan and start eating yogurt soup. (And if I’m wrong, which one of you is going to write to correct me?)
I note this, not with melancholy or dismay, but with a certain resolve not to waste my time with X or Y. I’ve already done a fair job in that I’ve largely stopped caring about the negative things people who aren’t friends and family say. It’s not that I won’t complain about them, and in fact, I’m even more likely to do so, probably in this blog; it’s that the anger and frustration don’t consume me, as they once did.
Once upon a time, every March 8 (the day after my birthday), I would play a particular Paul Simon tune. The lyric started:
Yesterday it was my birthday
I hung one more year on the line
I should be depressed
My life’s a mess
But I’m having a good time
I played that song annually for 20 years or more. I should get back to doing that again.
I generally take my birthday off from work each year, and today is no exception. Likewise, the blog, especially THIS birthday. I was born in the Chinese Year of the Snake, and arithmetically, it is the Year of the Snake for the sixth time in my life; I’m going to slither off now.
I have, in the past, and will again this year, quote a section from one of my favorite books, Here and Now: Living in the Spirit by Henri J.M. Nouwen, a Canadian theologian who died in 1996. Read the rest of this entry »
When John Lennon died in 1980, I was devastated. When George Harrison died in November 2001, I was melancholy, but I knew he was sick, so I wasn’t surprised. But as time passed, I realized I missed him more and more. Incidentally, All Things Must Pass was my high school prom theme.
I felt sorry for George in the Beatles. He’d write songs and they wouldn’t make the album, because those two other songwriters in the group dominated. That explained why the All Things Must Pass album had three LPs, including an instrumental experiment.
We met the first day of college. He was an odd sort who tended to hang off the edge of his desk like Snoopy on his doghouse roof. He was even more socially inept than I was at the time, which is saying a lot. He turned me onto comic books at a point that I thought I had outgrown them, at a point when this was not particularly cool.
We fought against wars together, as recently as 2003.
I was in one of his weddings and he was in one of mine.
Read the rest of this entry »