Sloppy Seconds

 

Post Christmas photo. Probably 1956. Dave, Peggy, Alan.

Officially, yesterday was the first snow in Chicago since the middle of last March. Calling it snow is a stretch. Sure flakes came down, but on the ground it was all just slop. I didn't even bother to go out and shovel it off the sidewalk. It was a rare birthday for me that the ground was not covered with snow and the temperature wasn't below freezing. That's how I remember all my childhood birthdays. Snow, ice, cold, and the other half of the Christmas present I had been given two days before. Oh, yes. That happened. The curse of being born at Christmas because my parents got spring fever nine months earlier. An electric Lionel train set on Christmas and a box of accessories two days later. A cap gun in a two gun holster and the other cap gun two days later. I think that's why I don't consider my birthday to be a special occasion. I don't celebrate it and now that Mom is gone, not even the singing birthday phone call is expected. Don't get me wrong. I'm not sad about my birthday not being celebrated. I'm sad that it marks one day less that I have to enjoy all the things and people around me. I'd sure like to get as much fun and life in before the legs give out or the eyes go blind. Nothing worse than a blind guy in the old people's home running geezers over with his electric scooter.