Today is my birthday, which comes up like yours, willy nilly, every year.
This particular year, I have to admit to 68 years, which admission is a pleasure and privilege as I haven’t yet appeared in the obits in the morning newspaper. And am still more or less capable of hiking, biking, gardening, reading, writing, and being a good husband, occasionally, to Jennifer Jean, my good wife of all these amazing years.
Nevertheless, I am struck, as you are, by the passing of time, the impermanence of our time here on the green planet Earth. By the loss of our loved ones, the tenuousness of relations and connections.
I ran across this photo the other day taken in 2005, near Cherokee Village, Arkansas, where my mom and dad were retired for many years. Mom died in 1991, but here, in the big chair in front of the King Catfish restaurant, are (left to right) Gerry, my older brother; Dad, the goateed mini-god; and Greg, the younger, less wrinkled version of me.
Since 2005, Gerry has gotten divorced (from his wife of 40+ years); Dad has died (February 2008); and I have wrinkled and crinkled, acquired a hearing aid but no new wife, thank the gods; a prostatectomy; a recurring case of bursitis; a number of delightfully smart and lively young Indian-American students (whom I tutor); and a Trek Madone carbon bike that I’ve ridden more than 60 miles at a time.
Next year, the gods willing, I will ride up to 75, then 100 miles at a time; continue to love my wife Jennifer truly, and my son Gabriel, his wife Heidi, and their daughter Ruby Mae, who have returned to Northwest Arkansas, to be with us and give us joy, this last summer; write the Great American Novel; cultivate my garden, in the Voltairean manner; and put off, for the time being anyway, my ascension into heaven.
How about you, friends? Where are you going? Are you seizing the day?