The Anniversary of Myself

In a few days I shall be a year older. So says the calendar. The vernal equinox is supposed to be the time for flowers to bloom in the spring, tra la.

I can no longer rely on the coral tree outside my window. It is lagging a couple of seasons behind with green leaves just now going golden in the autumn of its cycle. If this is a signifier I’ll take it. At 83 I’m well into my winter.

I’ve always counted on the coral tree to celebrate my birthday with its array of orange-red candles. On San Vicente Blvd approaching the beach, there are two miles of coral trees already in bloom. They were planted in 1950 when the red car line was ripped out and have since become a treasured landmark. At least they preserved the red.

Our illustrious mayor, Sam Yorty, whose mouth far exceeded his brain in its evolution, declared the coral tree was in keeping with our Spanish / Mexican heritage even though it is indigenous to South Africa.

Unlike myself, the trees evidently enjoy being pruned. Otherwise their limbs give way posing a danger to passing joggers. There are worse ways to die than being felled by a barked limb festooned with red floral lanterns. In my next incarnation I wouldn’t mind becoming a tree particularly a flowering one with its own calligraphy of twisted branches and a nest or two in the crook of its elbows.

The runners remind me of my younger glory days when, as a freshman, I was a sensational star athlete for the Brooklyn College of Pharmacy varsity basketball team. The older I get the better I used to be, as Sandy Koufax put it. I actually played only four games when it became clear I couldn’t memorize structural formulas and dribble at the same time.

Wait, I think I hear a choir of song birds from the coral trees of San Vicente singing Happy Birthday…or is that a garbage truck backing up?

Nothing can surpass Peggy taking me to dinner with one of her poems written for the occasion. Our 32^nd anniversary of moving in together will be coming up a few days after my birthday. Back then Peggy was twelve years older than I but she has subtracted a year every birthday so now I am twenty years her senior. That must be why the coral tree outside our window is so confused.