Birthday Reflections

Inasmuch as birthdays are milestones, it has become customary in our culture to reflect on the past year, evaluate our place in life, and reassess our plans for the future every year around the anniversary of our birth. There’s no particular reason that we should choose a specific day every year to remind us to reflect on ourselves in a profound way. Why not examine life everyday?

But such contemplation can be a difficult and fruitless undertaking, often leading to a sense of frustration and disappointment that many would just as soon avoid. So we tend to float along day to day, bobbing about with the flotsam and jetsam of everyday life without too much thought of our place in the sea. It makes sense, then, that we create markers for ourselves on the road of life to remind us of where we’ve been, where we are, and where we’re going.

And if we are to create arbitrary points to look at where we came from, so that we can create a sense of self out of the narrative of our own journey to today and project it forward into the future, then birthdays are as good a day as any.

With this in mind, the 28th anniversary of my birth provides an obvious opportunity to attempt to make some sense of my life. And though I am generally a thoughtful and contemplative person by nature, I rarely take the opportunity to explore my life in print.

So here, now, is my sense of the past year:
I taught tennis and tutored. I wondered about major changes but made few. I enjoyed the company of friends on walks, hikes, rides, and outings. I replaced brake cylinders and rebuilt carburetors. I was greatly appreciated by many people who matter to me, and yet was stung by the callousness of a few who don’t. I supported and facilitated my brother’s artistic endeavors. I advised youth and took pictures, led tours and attended car shows.*

And the sense that emerges from all these happenings is that mine is a fortunate life, despite the scars. I am content, and yet restless. I am unashamed, but disappointed. I am practical but prone to wondering. I am happy, and yet…

*

Half a year’s worth of these things are already documented here. The other half is absent, a victim of limited time and energy. I intend to amend the record—to fill in the gaps of the past year—while I move on. In the coming weeks and months, expect to see stories and photos of the past appear (in reverse chronological order) amidst the tales of the present.

Dr. Seuss' Happy Birthday to You!

I wish we could do what they do in Katroo.
They sure know how to say "Happy Birthday to You!"

In Katroo, every year, on the day you were born
They start the day right in the bright early morn
When the Birthday Honk-Honker hikes high up Mt. Zorn
And lets loose a big blast on the big birthday Horn.
And the voice of the horn calls out as it plays:
"Wake Up! For today is your Day of all Days!"

So begins Dr. Seuss' much beloved book, Happy Birthday to You! The book goes on, in typical Seuss rhyming verse, to describe all the wonderful, outlandish things the great Birthday Bird of Katroo will do for you on your Day of all Days.

Hidden amidst the tales of feasts (where you "don't have to be tidy or neat" and may "eat with both hands and both feet"), mustard-off pools ("warm water mountain-top tubs...built just for this by the mustard-off clubs"), hippoheimers, hoobubs, and time telling fish are some of my favorite passages of nonsensical philosophy ever penned by man or beast:

If we didn't have birthdays, you wouldn't be you.
If you'd never been born, well then what would you do?
If you'd never been born, well then what would you be?
You might be a fish, or a toad in a tree
You might be a doorknob, or three baked potatoes
You might be a bag full of hard green tomatoes.

Or worse that all that, why you might be a WASN'T!
A Wasn't has no fun at all, no he doesn't.
A Wasn't just isn't.
He just isn't present.
But you, you are you!
And now, isn't that pleasant.

If you'd never been born, then you might be an ISN'T!
An Isn't has no fun at all. No he disn't.
He never has birthdays, and that isn't pleasant.
You have to be born, or you don't get a present.

Today you are you!
That is truer than true.
There is no one alive who is you-er than you.
Shout loud, "I am lucky to be what I am!
Thank goodness I'm not just a clam or a ham
Or a dusty old jar of sour gooseberry jam.
I am what I am, that's a great thing to be!
If I say so myself, happy birthday to me!"

Hans Conreid Reads Happy Birthday to You!

If you happen to have your sound on, you're listening to Hans Conreid's incomparable recitation of Dr. Seuss' Happy Birthday to You! This fantastic reading has been a birthday staple in my family for a long time.

I recommend downloading the audio file because the whole thing runs about ten minutes long. And if you don't have the patience to listen to all of it, shame on you. Only kidding. If you can't manage the whole thing, just click on the links in the previous post to hear my favorite excerpts.

More Seuss Merriment

An extra selection from Happy Birthday to You, hand picked especially for Messers rLog and zLog:

And here comes your cake!
Cooked by Snookers and Snookers,
The official Katroo Happy Birthday cake cookers.
And Snookers and Snookers, I'm happy to say
Are the only cake cookers who cook cakes today
Made of guaranteed certified strictly grade A
Peppermint-Cucumber-Sausage paste butter.

And the world's finest cake slicers, Dutter and Dutter and Dutter and Dutter
With hatchets a'flutter, high up on the poop deck, stand ready to cut her.

Is That What I Think It Is?

Why yes, yes it is indeed a large Happy Birthday balloon tethered to my Camry.

And is this what you think it is?

Why yes, yes it is in fact my first post in ages.

Why is there a balloon tethered to my car, you ask. Presumably the inflated mylar bag with the overly smiley greeting is there because it's my birthday today. But who put it there? Therein lies the mystery.

Who Indeed?

As you can imagine, I was more than a little surprised to see the grinning Happy Birthday balloon adorning the camry when I returned home from tutoring yesterday evening. Clearly someone had taken it upon themselves to recognize my birthday publicly. But who could it possibly have been?

After the initial pleasant shock wore off, I pondered which of my local friends both knew of my birthday and would choose to celebrate it in this manner. Certainly not Messrs rLog or zLog, for they are not big on birthdays. Senor kLog is not in the vicinity. Andrea can always be counted on for a birthday call; but the balloon lacks her sense of subtlety. Hmmmmmm...who else?

I started to scan my mental list of friends, and in that moment it became obvious that it was a conspiracy. Clearly this balloon installation was the nefarious product of a covert operation carefully planned and enacted by a handful of my tennis students.

I confronted the likely culprits at the beginning of tennis practice today; and tough they giggled at the thought of my first encounter with the balloon, none of them admitted to placing a new art installation on my surplus vehicle. Of course, in addition to being terribly cute and well meaning, they are awful at harboring secrets with straight faces.

After practice the balloon bandits surprised me with a full pan of cupcakes decorated as tennis balls, accompanied by a rather cacophonous rendition of Happy Birthday. Despite the sad sound of that old American birthday standard, I couldn't help but reflect that sometimes my job is very rewarding.

Speaking of Birthday Songs

One of my favorite songs about passing birthdays is now playing in the background. Some of you may perhaps remember 14 to 41 by Jonah Matranga's solo project Onelinedrawing from my birthday posts last year.

14 to 41. Start blind, end up dumb. You're 16, you're 23, you're 32, you're 41 ...

Unexpected Visitors

Following my initial balloon encounter yesterday, I parked the MG in the garage and discovered that we had been visited by yet another uninvited guest. Some items in the garage were knocked over, bits of paper were strewn about, and torn bits of chocolate bar wrappers were everywhere. But the tell-tale signs that gave this bandit away were the tiny motor oil footprints across the floor. Clearly a raccoon had somehow found its way in and wandered around for a bit.