A sponge will soak up water or most any other liquid. But once it is full, you’ll have to really squeeze it out to make it absorbent again. Perhaps it is the same with my brain. It turns out that what I thought (in yesterdday’s post) was a horrible new thing introduced by WP.com was actually some kind of malware on my computer. It’s certainly a relief to know that nothing is or even was really wrong with my site. I am reminded again of the webmaster 101 lesson to always check your site on other computers to see it as other users will. Sometimes it seems to me I really do end up learning some of the same lessons over and over. I don’t know whether (as my friend Tiffany has suggested) that means that I am not quite grasping the correct lesson or if perhaps there really is a cyclical nature to life’s problems.
When I hear the word patter, I think of ‘the patter of little feet’ used to describe children hurrying to the living room on early Christmas morning, hoping to catch of a glimpse of Santa Claus on the job. I don’t really remember how old I was when I realized that Santa was just story and that parents buy all of the presents, although I will timidly admit that I still do believe in Santa Claus. And I always clap for Tinker Bell when I see Peter Pan. Even if I have grown up. At least sort of.
For some reason the word birthday has me thinking of my late huzband, Joel. One year we went to Bucca di Beppo (a rather unusual chain restaurant featuring family style Italian fare) and someone took a picture of him in those very decorated surroundings. Joel later photoshopped a crown onto his head. It was a very good job of photoshopping and many were fooled that he was actually wearing a crown in the picture, seated behind an elaborate candelabra and raising a toast like some king or emperor. I really miss him. My thanks today to Doug Wolfgram for suggesting the words and Kelly-Jane whose sponge cake with jam and cream provided today’s image.
As I write this on the evening of June 5th, my mind meandering towards my birthday tomorrow, I find myself thinking that the feeling of time shift, or time drift– the effect of constantly writing these posts in advance and scheduling them for a particular date, will be the surest and most long-lasting memory of my year of blogging every day. Already this evening I am getting Happy Birthday wishes on my Facebook wall, though honestly I don’t feel any older just yet.
Tomorrow Ron and I plan to celebrate with a late lunch at the new Chinese buffet that has opened in our neighborhood. (The one that closed a while back seems to have been re-incarnated as a Seven-Eleven.) After our lunch we will drive up to Milton to run an errand and then pick up our returning roommate, who is due back from two weeks in Canada visiting his girlfriend. Ron seems to be very much looking forward to having him back home. And some day soon, the UPS man will bring me my birthday present– Ron ordered me a case of Zapp’s potato chips– all the Cajun craw tator flavor. I plan to hoard them and stretch them out for the whole summer. He actually offered me a choice of the chips or an assortment of Hubig’s pies, but it seems to me we get plenty of sweets, and I find I really do miss my Zapp’s.
I frankly doubt that I will have nearly as many people wishing me a happy birthday on this post as I was able to round up for Holly’s birthday post a few months ago. While I’m sure I will receive a flurry of messages, I frankly doubt it will be a blitzkrieg. But I know that I will be genuinely grateful for each and every message I receive. Forty-eight years, egad. When did I get so……old?
I like birthdays. I like cakes. (and pies and cookies and fruit and veggies and seafood and meat and And AND…) Unlike my good friend Henry Plumley, I am not in fact a football fan. (A native of Cleveland, Hank is a long time Browns fan.) My antipathy towards organized sports dates back to the first grade, when Coach Butch herded all the 6 year olds onto the field to begin teaching us the rudiments of football. Those of us who were clumsy and slow to understand and execute his instructions, often got screamed at along the lines of “what’s that matter with you, boy, are you a pussy or a faggot or something”? Walking, swimming and sex are the only potentially strenuous activities I’ve ever really enjoyed. And I don’t even watch sports.
I am also not a big fan of Las Vegas and the southwest. I drove through northern Nevada years ago en-route from Boston to Seattle when I made my cross country move. I did spend a night in Reno and dropped a few quarters in a few slot machines (wow, they were Everywhere) but I had no interest in visiting the casinos and did little more adventurous than linger til check-out time the next morning watching a movie on HBO in my motel room, before setting out for the California Bay Area, where I visited a friend before heading up the
yellow brick freeway I-5 to the Puget Sound region which I am happy to say I now believe is where I belonged all along.
Hank and I don’t actually have all that much in common. We come from different parts of the US and hope to live the rest of our lives in very different areas. We’ve never worked in any of the same industries, so far as I know. We share some tastes in music, though not all musical tastes by any means. Hank is a brilliant photographer who is busy making a name for himself professionally. Please note that both the Las Vegas and Cleveland images are (c)2011 by Hank Plumley, all rights reserved. Just click on either image if you’re interested in seeing more of or possibly buying some of Hank’s great work. As I’ve mentioned recently, and certainly proved repeatedly I have about zero talent for taking photographs. To whatever extent I write well, writing is definitely where my talents lie. Hank and I are about as opposite as two guys can be. And yet we’re good friends, in that we’ve found we share a few common interests, experiences and perspectives. I talk to Hank several times a week and we share this, that and who shot the cat. Talking about our lives, our hopes and fears and sometimes even our dreams and nightmares. If you have time, you might want to check out Hank’s web site. And if you would, pretty please, leave a comment below and wish Hank a Happy Birthday. (Yep Hank’s birthday is March 11th.)
Hank says he doesn’t think he’s nearly as popular as Holly Jahangiri. While Hank is a few days younger than Holly, I do believe he is every bit as popular. So please do wish him a Happy Birthday. Here’s hoping you have a most excellent weekend.