Birthday Blog

As of now, the planet has twirled its way around the Sun just about exactly twenty-eight times since I got born.

Five presidents, two American wars and eleven Cher albums later, here I stand.

Did you know I missed Halley's comet? I did. It came by when I was in grade school, and the teachers wistfully informed us that we were lucky and would theoretically have the chance to see the comet twice in our lifetimes - once then and again sixty-some years later, when they themselves would of course be long gone. Looking back, I feel kind of bad for reminding my educators of their own mortality like that, but I bet they were used to it.

Penelope loves birthdays, because she loves getting older. "The older you are, the cooler you are," she says, confirming what I've long suspected - ever since the day I stood in my driveway astride a chrome Schwinn BMX bike and saw my ancient seventeen-year-old neighbor Kyle speed past on a motorcycle, the tips of his unsmoked cigars peeking out of his shirt pocket.

I am getting older. And I feel good about it. "Beats the alternative," as they say. I'm thankful for every ride around the Sun I can get. And I swear, every time around, it keeps getting better.