There have been a few birthdays in my life that have claimed to be "auspicious". Some are true for everyone, as they form a portion of the social fabric of our "growing up". At sixteen comes the driver's license; at eighteen comes the right to vote (and serve militarily); at twenty-one comes the license to drink; at thirty used to come the hill to be over (I don't know where that went.); at forty come the black balloons; at fifty come the memories of what used to be; somewhere around sixty comes retirement; and today, at seventy, comes what seems to be a time check, as in how much more time do I get. At seventy, I feel glad that fortune has bestowed on me a pretty long life, especially since I'm healthy and able to do pretty much as I please. I've had to replace a few of my body parts over the years, and there's no longer any chance, even with good training, that I will run the hundred meter dash, and most certainly, any memory I have of dunking a basketball is long past. But seventy finds me in a good place. My Bunny and I are doing well. Our kids and grand kids are doing well. We have very few complaints. For this we're grateful. On a surreal note, I've always been baffled by the vagaries of fate, but at the same time I'm grateful that my guardian angel has cared for me and about me for this long.
The Westin Towers.
Judy and I made our first trip together to Seattle for my birthday in May of 1989. We stayed at the Westin in room 2031 (Judy remembers). The weather was postcard perfect, as it is this weekend. Our view overlooks the Puget Sound where ferry boats scoot back and forth, where large freighters lay at anchor, where sailboats tip against the sunlight, and where the ripples of current can be seen as trails in the water. Thirty years ago, the view from the Westin was unencumbered. Today, three large condo buildings block part of the view. No matter, at forty floors up, the view still commands much of the water, and of course, at times like this, the Olympics rise out of the Western sea like hope for the future.
We did our normal thing: a walk through the market, a stop for a steamed pork Hot Bow, a trip to the Italian market for Vermont cheddar cheese, nutty Manchego cheese made by nuns, slices of salami, serrano ham, soppresseta, a baguette, a large dollop of pate, a very nice bottle of Borolo, and a sweet treat for dessert. Later, we returned to the room to enjoy our little picnic, each other, and the view, thankful that we're allowed these small pleasures.
So as for the seventieth, it's as auspicious as any other day since I believe it's all the same day, and that makes life good, especially today.
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