I do remember seeing a birth certificate claiming that I was born in Brooklyn, New York on a certain day in August that is near at hand. That or something else said that I came into this World at 12+ pounds ... didn't bother to mention the potential impact birthing a melon that size might have had on my 5'3" Mother. But that's a very old story, the direct witnesses to which have all gone through their own Last Quarters and -- most of them -- their Overtimes. But that begs the question of this birthday ... this day in 2013.
The thought was that those who claim direct descendency or ascendency from me (and their spouses)wish to gather to celebrate the event.
"You gonna have a Good-Time"
Well, they say I'm gonna have a good time. And truth be told it's likely true and it's nice to be toasted and for folk to gather for no other reason, purportedly, than to celebrate the fact that I was born. It's a very nice sentiment ... it really is ... I mean ... I like the idea ... it's a "Good" ....
Me'thinks I protesteth too much
Well. There are, indeed, some ambivalent feelings that might not be there if I were Thomas Jefferson with a slew of involuntaries doing my every bidding to prepare Monticello for the fete. But the thought of arising tomorrow with my usual late-middle-aged aches and cleaning up Self and yard and pool so that others can feel good about not forgetting my birthday ... right at this very moment leaves me cold. Maybe I should just climb into my roadster or onto my trusty bike and ...
Ride, Captain Ride
This pater familias thing ... having to be available and indentured to my own birthday party isn't doing it for me.
I can't always get what I want
Well, not so long ago, I wrote for my 65th birthday the following dittie in a series of doggerel pieces about an aging guy, Abe Isaacs .... struggling with the passing years ... I guess it's worth repeating:
“A
mere piss in the ocean, sixty five years,”
Said
Abe, as he trailed down birthday stairs,
To
serve birthday kibble to waiting dog and cats,
To
fetch birthday coffee, alas! No more birthday
cigarettes.
“A
day for all to revel with middle-aged me,
How
much more pleased could any man be?”
“A
cosmic fleck on the Milky Way”
Aside,
said he, quotidian fears to stay.
Then
appeared in his throat the telltale knot
When
noticing the cat’s favorite spot
To
shit upon when puss is feeling bitter
That
no one had bothered to change her litter.
And
while feeding the dog, the wish to run
Realizing
that decisions are never made as one
But
rather by the rule: my will be done
“Didn’t
we agree on a uniform ban
on
inuring the cats to eat meat from a can!?”
Abe
found a solution, a tad-bit rash
Abe
pulled out his sprinkler and make his own splash.
“I
piss on the world! Why the hell not?
Who
gives the pussy dominion on that spot?
A
day for all to revel with middle-aged me
Please
... save your sighs and no sympathy.”
“For
I’m no zit on the Lord’s six day creation
Having
arrived after all other failed experimentation.
Now,
three score plus five, know what I ought’a do”
Abe
barks at the rising Sun, “Hey Sun, Hey you!
Three
fourths down, a quarter remains
Of
vigor and charm and hearty refrains
Let
all who’ve tasted their own felicity
Come
and revel ... Mine lives, too!
Inside
this protesting but vigorous,
Middle-aged
me!”
The
moral of Abe’s story is brief ...
Many
will scoff when you’re pissed off
And
laugh at you if you run off
But
if you seek pets or missus to be cooperatively compliant
rather
than covertly and silently defiant
then
the rule is:
He
who pisses never misses.
Happy Birthday soon to me ...
Happy Birthday soon to me ....
Happy Birthday to Howard ....
Happy Birthday to me!
And many more ....
No comments:
Post a Comment