Quote for the Week

Since I'm thinking about birthdays....

Inside every older person is a younger person -
wondering what the hell happened.
- Cora Harvey Armstrong

Another Year

Time slips by. Next Monday, May 23, I'll be another year older. Well, I like to think that literally I'll be only another day older, but there will definitely be a new number to add to my age. Strange, because inside I'm sure I'm sixteen. A wiser sixteen, with more patience and hopefully more common sense. I'm not as apt to lose my temper or cry at the slightest thing; in other words, I've learned not to sweat the small stuff.

What if I could live life all over again? I would be more adventurous, less shy (although I recently heard shy people are hard-wired for that trait). I'd make more savvy investments--the future comes faster than I ever thought. I'd learn to be more independent, I'd analyze situations more thoughtfully. I wouldn't worry; I'd realize worrying doesn't solve problems, just keeps you up at night.

Or maybe I wouldn't change at all. There's an old play called Dear Brutus in which a group of people are each given another chance at life, an opportunity to change the "if only's," to be better people, more insightful, luckier at love and career. What happens? Each makes the same mistakes the second time around. The title of the play comes from a quote in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar: "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars but in ourselves than we are underlings."

Could I change the qualities I don't like in myself? Would I? No one gets that second chance.

What would you do differently if you had a chance to do it all over again?

Birthday

March 1 is/was Ralph's birthday. This year would have been the beginning of a new decade for him. I wish he could be here to celebrate.

He would have loved all the new technology--IPhones, IPads, Windows 7, faster, smaller, fancier cameras. Would he be into texting, twittering, friending? I doubt it, but he would have known the ins and outs of every software program and every new gimmick.

He would have loved to talk about 2008's never-ending Presidential campaign and to complain about the do-nothing Congress of today. The stock market crash wouldn't have fazed him; he was an optimistic guy.

He would be relieved to know that The Monster, his scary enormous philodendron that takes up half the patio, is still around. I have kept my promise not to murder it. He'd be happy that Tiki, his cat, is as playful as ever. Every night around 9:00 she and Toby, my cat, chase each other around the house, jump in and out of the bathtub and then curl up on the bed next to each other.

How he would love to see Gabriella, our granddaughter. Eleven years old now, she'll be starting middle school in September. The last time he saw her was a few weeks before he died. Children weren't allowed on the bone marrow transplant floor, but his wonderful doctor arranged for a special wheelchair so Ralph could go downstairs to the lobby and see Gabriella one last time. On the way back to his room, he said, "I hope she won't forget me." She hasn't and I'm sure she never will.

Most of all, he'd be proud of me and that I'm getting along on my own. Often stumbling along the way, I think I'm better than we both expected. I miss him every day. I wish we could celebrate this birthday together. Since we can't, I'll light a birthday candle and think of him and know, somehow, he's thinking of me, too. Love never fails.