What? Another Barfday?!

Oh, come on. No way is it birthday time again. I'm pretty sure I turned 66 only a few days ago, and now I'm turning 67. What the fook? Yeah, I know, getting older is better than the alternative and all that, but the increasing speed at which these years keep zooming past is staggering. At this rate, I'm going to be a pile of cremains as of yesterday.

A few days back, I vaguebooked about certain hard times that were sucking out my very soul, and while I'm not entirely free of those issues, things are better. A lot better, for which I thank Yog. I'm going to say that my Birthday Eve last night was the best ever. No shit! Lately, Kimberly and I have been regularly spending Friday afternoons at nearby Hamlet Kitchen, a lovely local wine spot three minutes up the road, and so yesterday, we made it a little birthday celebration—just the two of us, but damn, it was nice. And tonight, we had good friends Joe & Callie over for dinner, drinks, and what amounted to a raucous rumble that almost resembled dancing. 

Kimberly very kindly gave one of her beautiful handmade cards for my birthday, and just above, you can see it on the living room bookcase, with a wee bit of support from Gabora and Baragon. Splendid! 

Her birthday is next Saturday, so we'll be celebrating that in some fashion as well. As you can see in the photo below, she's getting really, really old.

Oh, wait, that's the guy behind her. Sigh.

Brugger and Old Dude having a birthday eve celebration at Hamlet Kitchen

Old folks prior to the shenanigans

Made lemon-garlic shrimp for dinner

Old Dude, Brugger, Callie Hietala, Joe Keiper getting ready for dinner and whatever the hell it was that came afterward.

The whatever-the-hell-it-was that came afterward

Cards Against Posterity

As the sole survivor of my immediate family, I often find myself reflecting on the profound influence of certain people, places, and events from my youth. Since my younger brother passed away a few years ago, I am the sole keeper of the memories of my family's life and times. When Phred was alive, he and I frequently took pleasure in sharing our most meaningful recollections of our days together as kids, our reverence for our parents, and our perspectives on the zeitgeist of the 1960s and 1970s. Apart from old photographs and a few sketchy diaries that we kept, the only first-hand knowledge of the most meaningful and intimate moments in our family's history resides in my brain. Of course, that's just how it is with life—and its inevitable passing. Whatever tangible marks one might leave behind, the most personal, intimate parts of ourselves simply depart.

Thanks to my fondness for revisiting much of the music my parents enjoyed, I find myself wanting to articulate some of my most vivid impressions from the mid-to-late 1960s and 1970s, when Mom and Dad were in their thirties and forties, if just as a little reminder to myself. So, I'm going to indulge the whim and see where it takes me.

My folks tended to be social animals. They frequently gathered with various other couples, and for me, the most memorable of these was when they hosted their regular Bridge Club at our house. We are talking a classy affair. There were generally four to six couples in attendance, and everyone dressed in their finest apparel. Mom didn't drink, but Dad was known to enjoy a few spirits from time to time. For Bridge Club (and whatever other gatherings they hosted), Mom always brought out the fancy china and drinking glasses, which had silver bands around the tops, and Dad filled the crystal decanters with bourbon and scotch. As they got themselves ready for the big event, Dad liked to put some music on our big console stereo, usually something in the easy-listening department. For a spell, his favorite was Frank Sinatra's "Days of Wine and Roses" album, which featured his version of "Moon River," otherwise made famous by Andy Williams. To this day, whenever I hear that song, whoever performs it, I think of Mom and Dad prepping for a social event, whether it be at our house or somewhere else.

Even though these were strictly adult events, I always found myself captivated at those times by what I perceived as a special magic in the house. Even when I went off to college, Mom and Dad were still active in numerous social—and, more importantly—philanthropic gatherings. My parents, whether in public or in the privacy of our home, were what I can only call classy, exceptionally decent human beings. Of course, they had their faults, shortcomings, and blind spots, as we all do. But Mom and Dad held themselves to such high standards in thought, word, and deed that I despair of ever being able to truly emulate them. Now, this last bit strays from my original reflective intent, but you know, sometimes that happens, and since this is me essentially rambling...there it is.

 

When I inherited our old house after Mom died, I kept all the surviving trappings of those bygone days. Brugger and I now use those old glasses, the china, the decanters to preserve what we can of that "classy" aspect of my family's history.

 

I suspect that I'll be occasionally posting other such ramblings. Join me if you like, but if not, I quite understand.

 

Till next time! 

Mom & Dad, circa 1963