Monday, January 12, 2009

This One’s for My Special Lady

We’re getting back into the groove now - a handful of stories and snippets are already long-handed into the ol’ notebook, I’ve got more writing time now that I’m back riding the 38 in the morning, and a veritable scadload of little notelets to myself of things that will be fun to write about eventually.  I’ve even recovered several of my lost Korea photos, which means that soon I’ll be regaling your eyeballs with pitchers unstead of these-here word thingies, which will be a great relief for my vast non-english-speaking constituency.  Or not.  I have no idea why any of you wind up here, honestly.  Is this thing on?

However, today it’s time for a special message for one of you in particular.  Yes, mom, I’m cyber-looking at you.  Today isn’t just the one-month anniversary of our bringing Jesse home with us - it’s the somewhat larger-denominated anniversary of my mother’s birth.  We are all looking forward to seeing you this weekend, at which time I can bestow upon you the generosity to which you are so richly entitled.  However, today - even though it’s your official birthday - what I’ve got for you is rather less tangible.  Rather, in the histrionic tradition of our clan, and in full recognition that there’s not much I can give you that you actually need and don’t already have, I offer you these laudatory words:

Start counting up from zero
and you’ll soon hit seventy
It’s not so big a number
as anyone can see
a minute plus ten seconds
I can hold my breath that long
A dollar minus thirty cents
won’t download you a song
Typists type more words per minute
Placekickers kick more yards
No, making it to seventy
just isn’t very hard.

But seventy is quite a lot
in certain other ways -
a lot of pounds for one-arm curls
a lot of rainy days
It’s way too many frankfurters
to eat all at one time
a lot of diamonds on a crown
a lot of lines to rhyme
For everything is relative
and numbers don’t mean much -
I mean, they mean so many things
their meaning can’t be touched.

So look beyond the number,
ask, what does it describe:
symphonic sounds in concert,
the souls of Jacob’s tribe?
Reflect upon the love that’s shared
and superseded fears
now put to rest by lessons learned
across seventy years,
evaporating in a blink
or lingering like wine -
a life well-lived, a song well-sung
the grapes of ancient vines.

Yes, seventy is plenty,
and seventy is scant,
depending on what’s on your mind
and your peculiar slant.
And so today, I have to say,
when all is weighed and measured,
let’s celebrate the septdecimal fate
of one whom we all treasure.
So we enlarge beloved Marge,
and merry maketh we;
Her day of birth has graced the earth
for years of seventy. 

Way to go, mom.  Thanks for all the nurturing, and stuff.  See you soon, right?