Birthday

Yesterday was my birthday. It was one of those double-same-digit birthdays, like 11, 22, 33, etc. Because of my age, I suspect that this will be my last double-same-digit birthday. My age is also divisible by the number 7, so now you know my age, assuming you can perform basic reasoning. I suspect most people under the age of 20 will simply ask, with furrowed brow, the monosyllabic, all-purpose interrogatory: "Huh?"

I received a WhatsApp birthday greeting at 7AM. I also received a lot of birthday cards this year: three, counting the one I got from my insurance agent. I also received a birthday email and a phone call, and get this: they were from different people! I told my partner Nuria that I didn't want her to buy me anything, but she got me a box of Omaha steaks anyway. It makes planning dinner easier. She always makes a salad, and the rest of the meal consisted of a ribeye steak and asparagus. Because it was a special day, I went off my usual diet and ate half a baked potato, topped with butter, whipped cream, bacon bits, and chopped scallion. I even ate a super-delicious dessert. (I ate a quarter of it ... it was so sweet I'm going to spread it over four days.)  And for a libation, I consumed a glass of chilled Moscato. Don't raise your eyebrows—it came from Walmart.

Today is Friday, and the temparture at noon is a comfy 76°F. The sky is sunny and after I eat lunch I'm going to mow my yard. I think there's just enough gas in my riding mower to mow the entire yard, but I'll mow the front yard first. If I run out of gas cutting the back yard, it won't be a big deal; no one will notice except my immediate neighbors, and they couldn't care less. Both of them do the partial-mowage thing all the time. 

I'm driving with Nuria to Roanoke next weekend to visit friends. Yes, I do have friends, contrary to what one might think if you've read this blog for a long time. Not a lot of friends, mind you, but the kind of friends that are hard to find, rather like a few pearls amongst a bed of barren oysters. I try to stay in touch with my friends, but alas, I'm rather deficient in my efforts. My last trip to Roanoke was in 2021. I took Nuria and her sister Iri to Roanoke to spread the ashes of Nuria's late husband there. He was a "Roanoke boy," though he was born in California. I lived in Roanoke for 17 years, but I never felt that Roanoke was my home. I always felt like I was a stranger just passing through the city. I was stuck there like a fall leaf stuck on a tree branch, just hanging until a strong gust of wind blew me out of town and back to where I live now. Ironically, I'm not that fond of my hometown, but it does feel like home to me, and it always will.

It's 1PM and I'm going to make my lunch now: three eggs and two slices of bacon. "What's that?" you say. It doesn't sound like lunch? Okay, call it an afternoon breakfast. My first meal of the day consisted of an Atkins bar of the chocolate and peanut butter variety, which I ate around 8:30AM. Now I need some energy so that I can drive that mower around the yard. Hey, don't laugh. Steering that little tractor is hard work. Plus, there's a throttle and a gearshift and a clutch and a brake to operate. Gone are the days of pushing a lawn mower around the yard. Those days ended not long after my next-to-last eleventieth double-digit birthday. Nowadays, I believe in letting machinery do the hard labor if at all possible.

Until next time.