Birthdays
and Other Afflictions
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I’ve never
made a big deal of my birthdays. In childhood, my birthday presents were always
books, which was exactly what I wanted. Coming from family raised during the
Great Depression, a gift was a Big Deal. I’m pretty sure my Dad never had a
birthday present.
For decades,
beginning in my forties, I began skipping the “9” years. Instead of forty-nine,
I became “almost fifty”. I did not see 49 as a positive gain. Almost sixty.
Almost seventy.
This year, a
“9” year, I turned almost 80 as the moon crossed over the sun.
I doubt that
has any great significance. There are such things as coinky-dinkies, thank you,
Jimmy Durante. You have to be old to remember that man. Good night, Mrs.
Calabash, wherever you are. In my defense, when I watched Jimmy Durante on
television, I was really young and he was really old.
My birthday
night was also a night of no moon. Make of that what you will.
I appreciate
that young people today talk about everything, big and little, stuff my
generation was not allowed to even think about—nor did we have the basic
information to allow us to think. It might seem the young ones talk too much,
but, hey, talking, talking, talking the forbidden is new experience and the new
will wear off. Conversations which were taboo to people of my generation will
become common.
One of the
items on that long, long list of things nobody told us would happen when we got
old, one among many of the dreaded, dreadful taboo topics, hold your breath, is
hemorrhoids.
Guess what I
got for my birthday. Yep, that “H” word
as one of my friends calls it. She still cannot let the forbidden word slip
past her lips.
I determined
years ago that I will talk about whatever crosses my path, painful or not. A
little research showed me that hemorrhoids are common in older people, a
natural, (painful), progression, so to speak. Cripes.
Since most
of the people I’m in touch with are aging and/or aged, when I visit, I announce
my new affliction with gusto and a big smile, “Guess what? I’ve got a
hemorrhoid.”
After the
bug-eyed looks of shock wear off, most of my friends then share their stories
of how they dealt with said affliction. Medicine works. I recommend medicine.
On the way
to the Farmacia for my medication for hemorrhoids, I noticed every other
building in town is plastered with political posters. This is an election year
in Mexico.
While not
everything in Mexico is wonderful, and I do tend to wax lyrical about what I
find wonderful, like any country, Mexico has big faults, some Grand Canyon big.
Let me sing
goodness about the election process, at least this part of it. Campaigning is
limited to two months. Two months of loud and predictable and tiresome promises
and lies. Two months. June 2, people will head for the polls and vote and that
is done. Done. For six more years.
Speaking of
falsehoods, excuse me a moment to talk with my editor.
Tim, if it
is not too shaky or fuzzy, I would like to change my photo from hollyhocks to a
birthday photo Crin took of me on my patio. Could you also have your photo person
do a little, what do they call it, photo shop? Air brush? Remove glaring
defects? Make me beautiful?
Just
kidding. I know they can’t do the impossible. However, could they take some of
the worry away from my face? Oh, and I had not combed my hair. If it doesn’t
work, keep the hollyhocks, please. Thank you.
All in all,
I had a good birthday. My daughter called and sang me the birthday song. A
friend left me a basket of fruit on my patio table. Others took me out for
breakfast. Another friend made me an apple dumpling and gave me a rock. Friends
are good. (The rock is a pumice stone for cleaning lime scale, a last minute,
thoughtful, “we gives what we gots”.)
And, true to
history, I bought myself a book.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
April
birthday week
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