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ah, the golden years at last

July 14, 2011

Today ends a week of celebration I gave to myself to mark my 65th birthday.

It started with the arrival of our six hens last Thursday.  They gifted us with

seven eggs Friday morning but have been on strike since.  It doesn’t help that

they’re still spending the night in the dog carrier until I can make their coop

secure and let them get to the multi-colored nesting boxes.


Saturday was the community garden party, which starts at our place and moves

down the road through the afternoon and evening.  Usually we put out appys

like chicken nuggets.  This time we started things with dessert.  Jude made me

three exquisite cakes.  That was plenty of room for 65 candles, but there’s an

island-wide burning ban, so we just pretended flames.


Tuesday was the actual birthday.  It kicked off with a trip to my dermatologist,

who found my skin acceptable for another year.  I don’t tan or burn, I cancer.

So a good check-up was a great start.


Then Jude and I went to a nearby thrift store.  I wanted to buy something friv-

olous.  I chose a forest firefighter’s jumpsuit, with official provincial emblem.

Now I can officially fight provincial forest fires.  From there we picked up Nathan

from his martial arts class and feasted at Boston Pizza.  Then we came home to

cheer the National League to a victory and home field advantage for the World

Series.  The Giants are going to need it.


Birthdays that end in zero or five seem to have more significance than the others.

I spent a lot of psychic time preparing for this one because it makes me officially

old.  Mind you, I don’t feel old.  With the world’s best mate, a loving family, great

friends, superb neighbours and an incredible home, I’ve never been happier. 

Plus now I get to ride the ferries for free Mondays through Thursdays.


I gave myself a priceless gift when I turned “old”: permission to stop worrying

about shit I can’t change.  And I do mean shit, like raving right-wing lunatics,

raving left-wing lunatics, impotent politicians, self-destructive celebrities,

and the tabloid journalism that keeps throwing them in our face.


My father died when he was 72.  I found out later that he had a fighting chance

to neutralize the leukemia that was stampeding through his body, but opted

not to.  It took me years to figure out why he made that choice.  My best guess

is that he’d simply had enough.  There’s just so much grief, global and personal,

a person can endure, I think.  He was buried a few days before the Oklahoma

City bombing.  So he ducked that one, at least.

  1. July 14, 2011 12:53 pm

    Happy birthday, and congratulations!

  2. July 14, 2011 1:35 pm

    Happy Birthday! And now I understand when people would write about things that would put their chickens off from laying eggs!

    • July 14, 2011 9:03 pm

      I’ve got to take their laptops away.

  3. July 15, 2011 10:03 am

    Happy belated birthday! I never thought much about getting older until my 65th. birthday last October. That one sort of blindsided me. The label “Senior” annoyeth the crap out of me!

    I had to laugh the other day when I was in the Salvation Army thrift shop. I was paying for my goods when the clerk pointed to a sign on the desk which stated that all Seniors” over the age of 65 were entitled to a 10 percent discount. Apparently she is not allowed to ASK anyone if they are old … just point. We are such delicate flowers!!! I took the 10 percent discount and ran.

    • July 15, 2011 10:25 pm

      I snap up every senior discount in sight. And no one cares that we were hedonistic anarchists in the 60’s.

  4. Gordon permalink
    July 15, 2011 3:01 pm

    Allen, Happy Birthday in writing. What a great website. I’ve read some of the posts and taken the complete tour. You and Jude have done so much work. The house looks beautiful but more importantly the house looks like home. I’ll look forward to visiting and til then will visit virtually (oops there’s that word again). Tell Jude “hi”. Vootie.

    • July 15, 2011 10:30 pm

      Thank you so much for stopping by, Gordie. I thought you’d enjoy the place. Make yourself at home until you actually get here. Vootie.

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