Birthdays and longevity

My Dad's 69th birthday cake had little plastic golfers and a stick with a triangular flag, a miniature of those they stick in the holes on greens. He had shot his best round of golf ever the day of his birthday party filled with friends and surprises.

Even the birthday party was wonderful for him. Born right after Christmas, one of ten children in a poor family his birthday got lost. Even as an adult, his birthday was a non event after the holiday rush, except for his 69th year.

Although I wasn't there in Florida to celebrate with him, I have a photo of the cake, shot over his bald head. I've been told it was one of the happiest days of his life in a life with many happy days.

The next night I received a call from my uncle? "Are you sitting down?"

I said yes, although I was standing. I've no idea why I lied: maybe because my uncle was a jokester and I thought a joke was coming. No joke. I fell to my knees. A few hours later I was on a plane to Florida.

Sunday I turned 69 and walked in the mountains, admired the snow and spent the afternoon tucked cozily in the chalet watching Hitchcock films with a good, good friend. It too was a wonderful day in a series of wonderful days.

Yesterday, I did ordinary things, worked on the newsletter, did a bit of paperwork, got nuked, took a photo of the flowers outside the door, enjoyed the beautiful, but cool, Geneva summer.

And today, I woke up having outlived my father by one day and aiming for years more of days. I owe it to him to make the most of each moment as he would have done had he been allowed.