It’s my birthday too, yeah

So far it hasn’t been a great year, but today dawned clear and warm with the smell of spring in the air and it all seemed to augur well for another trip around the sun. The exact number of this trip shall remain unspoken — such is the foolish vanity of baby boomers when they start getting mail from AARP. Let’s just say the proprietor of Dave’s Fiction Warehouse is not all that anxious for the senior discount.

Which is not to say I’m ready for a life without birthdays. True, as a reminder of my advancing age, they’re nothing to celebrate. But as a reminder of how many people might miss me if I weren’t around, they’re not bad. Gift cards come in the mail, and phone calls come in from the kids, and my wife takes me out to lunch. I guess if you want to measure success in life, you just count up the number of people who feel obligated to remember your birthday. If it requires more than, say, one hand — well, how bad can life be?

Anyway, if growing older isn’t great, the alternative is less so. You don’t want to go gentle into that good night, but you don’t want to be bitter about it either. So today I took the dog for a long walk to College Hill Park, and took special note of the yellow and lavender croci rising amid the brown grass and the dog turds. Springtime in February, how often does that happen? And for me, it’s New Year’s Day. Might as well enjoy it.