Happy Birthday, Rambi!
You share a birthday with my father, who turns 80 today.
I called him yesterday, told him he still had a little more mileage on him as the old folks in my family generally live really long lives. Many live well in their 90s.
My grandaunt, who died at 90-something, was a champion bridge player, swam a mile a day until she got pancreatic cancer, and is famous for going to China, then throwing a full dinner party, most of which she cooked, on the day she returned. What's a little jet lag to an otherwise vigorous 85 year old?.
They made 'em tough in West Texas in the old days.
She remembered riding a wagon to her school in Austin, St. Something-or-other, with armed men who were literally riding shotgun to protect her from various nefarious types still left over from the Wild West.
Your memories as a vigorous 85 year old will of course be different but they'll be just as amazing to your grandchildren and great grandchildren as my grandaunt's were to me. The problem, of course, is that everything we do now seems so ordinary.
But it isn't, trust me.
You might be the mother of the next Marlon Brando.
Or a discovery of some publishing house that will issue all of your scribbling, electronic and otherwise, to a tremendous public reception.
Who knows.
Interestingly, my son had a dream, too, as you did in 2/98. He told it to me about it yesterday. It involved my father, who in his dream turned into a scary zombie named Butch.
I did not tell my father about this particular dream on his birthday. |
