Sunday, 10 June 2012
This afternoon, in a fit of uncharacteristic spontaneity, we went to Jennifer’s parents’ house for the day. Jennifer’s sister was there with her family, too, so Owen and Isla got to play with their two cousins.
It’s hot and humid today, exactly like I don’t like it. So the adults pretty much stayed inside. The kids played intermittently in a kiddie pool, on a slip-and-slide, with the hose, and with a sand table.
After we’d been there for a few horus, Jennifer asked me if I’d like her to go out and buy a treat for my birthday. At first, I said no, since it’s not my birthday. My birthday is tomorrow. But, after thinking about if for five minutes or so, I thought to myself: “Don’t be such a ninny, James.” I realized it might be more fun to share cake and ice cream with the extended family than waiting until tomorrow after work. So I changed my mind.
Here I am with my cake:
From the way I’m holding the cake, it looks like my shirt + the dessert say: “I’m bringing Happy Birthday,” but that was unintentional. Also – holy cow! – do I ever need a haircut. Oh – and that’s my brother-in-law-to-be in the background, there. I mention this merely because it’s not often I get to use a word with four hyphens in it.
Monday, 11 June 2012
So, unless your reading comprehension is deplorably low, it should come as no surprise when I say today is my birthday. I spent the day by going to work and then fighting traffic. It was glorious.
Actually, in the evening, the four of us went out to eat at Chevy’s, which is a Mexican restaurant. Or, rather, an American interpretation of Mexican food, which is, in fact, the kind of Mexican-food interpretation I like best.
Tonight, my wife lit a candle atop the remaining one quarter of my cake (see: yesterday) and she and Owen sung me happy birthday. Isla joined in the festivities by wearing a silly grin the whole time. She also helped me blow out my candle.
My sister sent me a card, which thoughtfully arrived today, in which she wrote, “Holy shit you’re old.” She also called me to verbally provide birthday wishes. My Dad called, too, which I thought was kind of him.
Since I’m now another year older, I’ll also have to add another item TO THIS PAGE. But I haven’t yet. I’m still thinking of what to add.
You know, on every one of my birthdays, I think of my grandfather – my maternal grandfather. He used to call me every year on my birthday – not to say happy birthday, but to share a scripture with me. I guess it’s okay for Witnesses to do that, I don’t know. Now, these scriptures didn’t necessarily say anything encouraging, or have any sort of advise in them; no, the only reason why my grandfather selected them was because they mentioned the number of my new year. For example, when I turned twelve, he maybe told me to look up Genesis 35:22, where it says that “Jacob had twelve sons.” And when I turned twenty-four, he told me to look up Revelation 19:4, where it says something about twenty-four elders bowing down and worshipping God.
I used to try to make sure I caught his phone call each year and, on the rare occassion when I didn’t, I listened to his message, and made sure I looked up the scripture that very day. One time, I even pulled a concordance off my book shelf and looked up which numbers were in the bible. See, by my mid-twenties I started getting the feeling that not every number is in the bible, and so maybe my grandfather would eventually get to a year when he wouldn’t have a scripture to share with me. I needn’t have worried, though; I forget how high, but I think every single number up past fifty is mentioned at least once in the bible.
After Owen was born, my grandfather began calling on his birthday, too, and I remember reading Owen a scripture on both his first and second birthday (by which time I wasn’t even a theist anymore, but my grandfather didn’t know that).
Anyway, he doesn’t call me anymore. Since I’m not a Witness anymore, he believes it’s wrong for him to do something that was probably wrong for him to do back when I was a Witness. Oh well. Just for shits and giggles, then, here’s an encouraging passage from the Holy Bible that includes the number of my age:
“Uriah the Hittite. Thirty-seven in all.”
-2 Samuel 23:39