March 24th is my birthday. Like I wrote last year, since I thought I wouldn’t make it past 60, I haven’t paid much attention to birthdays.
Sunday afternoon, the Florida Clan (note “clan” is spelled with a “c,” not a “K”) descended on the house. In addition to Matt, Sarah, Adam, Carly, Malcolm, Graham and Elliot, Neighbor Bill and Friend Anne showed up for ribs, turkey burgers and birthday cake.
Miz Anne, bike partner and Road Warrior, had the temerity to ask me how old I was going to be. I suspect she was flaunting her youth.
“Sixty-eight,” I replied without hesitation, “if I make past midnight.”
“You’re not going to be 68”
“You’re not going to be 68,” Wife Lila responded. “You are only 66. You were born in 1947. You’re going to be 67.”
I didn’t bother to pull out a calculator because it was a given if I wanted to make it past midnight to whatever my new age was going to be, the right answer was, “Yes, Dear.”
(When I got back to my office, though, I pulled out my calculator and did the math. Not unexpectedly, she was right.)
So, I just got a year younger instead of a year older. (I wonder how many forms I filled out over the past 12 months where I claimed to be 67?)
I hate to break the news to Curator Jessica. She checks the obits every morning to see if she can lay claim to my Ohio photo collection for the Athens County Historical Society’s museum, and she’s going to be sorely disappointed to find out I’m not as old as she thought.. (Although, in her case, she has to stand on a stepladder to see 30, so I don’t know if she can tell the distinction between pretty old and REALLY old.)
By the way, you can click on the photo at the top of the page to see me celebrate my birthday with my Grandmother in Advance before my cute wore off.
Indeed I WAS flaunting my youth, or trying to. I believe my exact words were “How many are you this year?”
I am pleased to have played a part in you gaining a year. Truly, that is the best present. Though I am POSITIVE the second best present is going to be tattoos.
Miz Anne, Ma’am, you better flaunt your youth while you can. When you pair up on the road with Curator Jessica, you’ll see why she can pass for my granddaughter.
Dang, I knew I shouldn’t have arranged for that flock of 68 plastic flamingos to appear in your yard.
Happy Birthday, Ken!
Flamingos? When we talked on the phone, you said you were giving me the bird. I thought it was a wave with one finger showing.
Happy birthday, old man. So you’re looking at the anxious side of 70. Which involves driver licensing, or should. Thinking back on how you took those off-ramps on 2 wheels while yammering away about some roadway fact – bridges collapsing, or who needs guardrails (wussie Floridians fearing gator-riddled canals, say you; for 75 year old q-tips, say I)- I hope the kids ground you before 75 or at least relegate you to a riding lawn mower, ala George Jones. Hope to get one more trip in while you can still remember the route. . .
Now: how many more boxes of negatives do you have to sift through? Chop, chop!
Happy Birthday, Ken, and many more.
Happy Birthday Ken and welcome the world of seasoned citizens…
Happy Birthday, Ken. Hear’s to another good year.
HaPPY BIRTHDAY.
Happy Birthday Ken. Glad ur not 68 cause that would make me 68 next month. UGH!
Happy B Day Dr Stein off. Your age would now be considered “ripe & old” by anyones’ standards. Too bad more of your hairs didn’t live to see this grand occasion.
Enjoy each day as if it were your last OL’ timer…
B.T.
Congrats on the younger birthday and HAPPY BIRTHDAY – whatever number it is. 🙂