birthday
I'm writing this at about nine in the morning. I'm told it was right about this time precisely thirty-nine years ago that I popped out into the bright dry world.
Today's my birthday. I won't be doing anything special on this very day, but Catherine and my family and I have a couple of things planned for when everyone isn't busy. Hopefully that will be before my next birthday.
In the meanwhile, one of my favorite lyricists, Paul Buchanan, recently said something in an interview with the Glasgow Herald (an interview that augurs good things), that strikes me as a good word for this day:
"Wasn't it great being alive? Just opening our eyes once — wasn't that unbelievable?"
Today's my birthday. I won't be doing anything special on this very day, but Catherine and my family and I have a couple of things planned for when everyone isn't busy. Hopefully that will be before my next birthday.
In the meanwhile, one of my favorite lyricists, Paul Buchanan, recently said something in an interview with the Glasgow Herald (an interview that augurs good things), that strikes me as a good word for this day:
"Wasn't it great being alive? Just opening our eyes once — wasn't that unbelievable?"
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