Thirty-one

Sometimes, on one's birthday, it is just as satisfying to do something for a friend as it is to have a friend do something for you.

Thirty Something

Last year I posted this picture.

This year, I thought this might be appropriate:

I'm so glad we could spend the day tinkering with a 99-cent Rubik's-like Cube, scaring Louie by coming out of the bathroom door, and chatting while Grandpa snored.

May 18th

(Louie, wishing you a happy birthday, Mom.)

Ninety-eight

(My Grandpa, at the spring-chicken age of 94, looking at patent designs he'd mailed to himself fifty years ago to prove idea proprietorship.)

My family likes to brag that my grandpa put an addition on his ranch at age 80. That it wasn't until 92 that he gave up driving (and gave me his car). And that he's totally stuck it to The Man with his Lockheed and Chrysler pensions.

Bryan, Mark, and I are going to celebrate with him tomorrow. And it'll be nice. We'll take him out to lunch, and he'll insist that he isn't hungry, but will then clean his plate and whatever overgrown dessert we order for him against his protest, saying he only has to eat as much as he wants. Then we'll go back to his place, and try to tease the secret of longevity out of him. I'm hoping his answer will include:

A) good family and friends

B) hard work

C) love

D) charity

E) periodic moments to exhale

F) ice cream