In truth, I’ve pretty much stopped counting. Celebrating that date of one’s birth seems… arbitrary. If one had a big party on August 10th for fifty years and then discovered there had been a mix-up on the birth certificate and you were born on August 11th… what? See? Arbitrary. But a party is a party, if that’s your thing. I really don’t need much of an excuse to drink too many beers. But, like January 1, it’s a good benchmark. For some, a day to look back. Or ahead. But I’m doing less of that these days, so… let’s just say I’m happy to be here.

“Individual humans are merely temporary forms taken by the single, shifting web of life on earth. If humans are not really separate things, then their births and deaths are also not real, but simply one way of seeing the rhythms of life.” (Immortality by Stephen Cave) More excerpts »

And you can put those blunt-nosed scissors, the construction paper and that little jar of paste back in your desk. I took the liberty of making my own birthday card.