AFTER A WHILE birthdays are no big deal. But I still like 'em.
The only really significant part about today is that in two years, I'll be 50, which scares the living bleep out of me. And makes my siblings feel really old.
Some people hate birthdays. Sheryl doesn't have one. She is ageless, actually. We celebrate her not having a birthday by being relieved that it is over.
I'm going to mark the occasion by having lunch with Granny Annie Mays and selling stuff at Second String Music, and reminding myself to take my vitamins.
I'm looking at Lucy, the Border Collie of Doom. She has her head down by her stuffed dog, which will soon be unstuffed, and this milestone business really doesn't faze her at all. "So you are old. Big deal. I'm just glad you managed to hobble around the cemetery this morning with us," she says.
In the end, I am grateful to the Good Lord above for family and health. I am a day older and wiser.
And I'm glad getting older means you don't grow up.
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