Monday stumbles through the dawn like a newborn calf, all legs and elbows and surprised to find itself standing. So here we go on my last week in my forties. Turning twenty one was such a shock that nothing after that really has meant much. But this seems different. Unless Danny Hillis and Ray Kurzweil are right about the Singularity, fifty is not middle aged, it’s damned well past it.
That being as it may, life is all just stuff that happens to you while you’re making other plans. So another week is just another week.
Although. The thing that makes life so much more interesting is loved ones, and a whole bunch of them are coming to visit this week for the foreboding 50th birthday party Sunday. I do love a party, and this one should be fun. We’ve got friends, nephews, nieces, great nephews and great nieces, plus a brother and a whole lot of others showing up to make the weekend a lot more interesting.
Pig roast by a genuine former political prisoner (Cuba), steel drum music by Sir Cedric, open bar and lots of delectable munchies sounds like fun to me.
Anyway, a short post, but it’s time to take the dogs to the beach.
2 comments:
I just found your blog. This is so great and so Jeff. I'll be a reg.
Oh, and have a great birthday celebration. You'll survive being 50 with class, it's your nature.
Pig roast by a bona fide Political prisoner...there in lies a tale, and also a potential joke or pun as a rant.
All in all, sounds like almost worth turning fifty for!
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