When the Smoke Clears

I don’t like this aging thing. I know it’s supposedly just a number and I keep hearing from people “you are doing really well” or “you are really fit” always followed by “for someone of your age.”

Back off.

It’s no secret I want to live for a very long time… Methuselah-like*. I want to watch the changes in the world. So many things have happened to dramatically shape our civilizations since I was born, and I want to see what else is out there, what all the great and horrific things to come are.

The other reason is simple: there is just so much to learn. Try as I might, I can never get beyond a lightly gouged surface, and ever since a head injury years ago took out part of my brain, it takes longer to digest each subject. It’s like I am scrambling to get as much in before the clock runs out. And it’s not a matter of fatalistic denial of anything more spiritual. I’m confident that when I pass on from this world, I will only be working even harder in service to make things better for some. Right now is my time.

October 1 is my official blog birthdate. This site was a birthday gift (started one day after the fact) from some friends who wanted to see me writing more often and also wanted to be able to keep up with what was going on in my world since I moved away from all the city centers. We have dispersed about the globe like dandelion seeds in windswept valley.

But birthdays are not great reminders to me. I have enough memories of the past ones that I get a little tense on those days. I could usually be guaranteed a punch or a smack at the minimum no matter how much I tried to fly under the radar. Apparently I was always being selfish on my birthdays, the worst event happening on the evening when it became clear someone suddenly remembered it was my birthday and he hadn’t done anything about it. I didn’t want anything. A high-school friend had given me a really cool book only a nerd would love, having worked to save up the money for it, and I was busy reading and taking notes when the birthday card fell out.

I do still remember my second birthday and the party my parents and some of their friends threw for me and a friend born 12 hours after I was. She hated the clown. I discovered Colorforms. She went on to become one of Al Gore’s personal assistants. I guess both of us being Libras didn’t mean a thing when it came to what we would mature into.

My friends in the know try hard to make it a better day for me as if I could recreate and relive the times as a child. It won’t happen. But their attempts mean more to me than I express in my stoic countenance.

And one year of online writing what do we have? I have met some amazing people, found some illusions dispelled, learned about new subjects and new ways of thinking a book could never teach, made some friends I truly respect… some I probably never would have spoken with otherwise, and I have rediscovered my love of writing along with the discipline required to improve.

Thank you all**. I sit here, woods quieting as the colder night air silences many of the crickets, a large woodpecker pounding out an echoing tattoo to find the dormant, sluggish creatures he so desires, and I thank you.

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* … or Lestat-like if we had to give up something for it…

** Especially you delicious grape-jelly providers out there… you know who you are and it all arrived right on my birthday safe and unharmed…

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