This morning after sleeping in, I strolled outside to do a few chores around Mom's house. As the only tenant, there's no rush -- move some trash, clean the gutters. After a shower, I noticed the voice mail light blinking on the cell phone. The message surprised me.
"Happy birthday sweetie!" Dena's voice chimed.
I checked the clock: 11:55. Got to be some kind of record for forgetting my own birthday. Fortunately, I wouldn't have made it the whole day anyway:
1. Mom gave me a card when I visited her.
2. Jack remembered his well wishes in the last two seconds of a fifteen minute phone call.
3. My old buddy Matt West left a voice message at 9:45 p.m.
4. Matt's mom left me a voice message at 10:15 p.m.
5. Dona e-mailed at 11:30 p.m.
If I were the sort of person interested in legacies, then this would be a prime time to start planning -- at 36, I'm more than halfway through the life span of all of my immediate male relatives. But even though the trends suggest that I've about 30 years to live and will spend 20 of them working, I'm pleased to say that there's no mid-life crisis on the horizon. The job is great, our family ties are strong, we're doing what we love, and we have freedom beyond most people's wildest dreams. When every day feels like a gift, what more is a birthday?
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