Tomorrow, December 28, at 6:03 a.m. CST, I will turn 38 years old.
My mom has always said that she doesn't remember giving birth to me. Something about being early in the morning and good drugs... And I weighed in a tiny 5 lbs 15 ounces. My dad wrote in my baby book of my birth:
"The mother and baby were in excellent condition at
time of birth. Cannot say as much for father."
Apparently I was supposed to be born in January of 1970 but, as my dad so often liked to joke, I just had to squeeze into this world during the last few days of the 1960's. I have always been a fan of the 60's. I grew up on the Rolling Stones, The Doors and The Beatles. I went into a big 60's phase in high school - following old 60's bands around on tour, wearing the heavy black eyeliner and mini's. My dad was frustrated that he put a brand new AM/FM stereo into my 1974 Plymouth Duster only to find that the only station I listened to was AM hits from the 1960's. Hey, at least we agreed on the music!
I even heard one of my favorite songs from the era today in the grocery store!
"If you're going to San Francisco... be sure to wear flowers in your hair..."
I still wonder sometimes if I should've been a hippie instead of a twinkle in my parents' eyes. I guess I will always be a hippie at heart. (Of course the "free love" idea always gets me into trouble. )
Mom noted in my baby book that it started snowing at 1:00 on December 30, 1969. (Rare for Louisiana!) Then she added that I smiled in my sleep at 1:15. Perhaps even then, I knew to appreciate miracles!
I'll be busy getting my house prepared for a party tomorrow night. I'm actually throwing my own birthday party. I know it sounds pathetic but after years of my friends forgetting, I'm having a party dammit!
I'll let you know how it goes...