Yesterday I got my best birthday present: the results of my cat-scan. All organs, pancreas, liver, spleen, gall bladder and lungs are all termed unremarkable. I’ve always suspected as much. At this age unremarkable is better than fifteen minutes of fame.
I leave that adjective, remarkable, to describe Peggy who will be 100 years young in 5 weeks Until then I’m a mere eleven years her junior. She can hardly remember back that far when she was 88..
There is something special about those years divisible by eleven. At 88 I am now the number of keys on a piano. I expect to grow tusks soon sufficient to furnish the ivory. Then they can ship me off to a Steinway factory for my next incarnation.
The other thing about 8 is when you knock it on its side it becomes infinity which sounds like eternal life to me.
I just looked it up. 88 is a special number in numerology. It is supposed to bring great wealth. Too late; I don’t need a thing. Where would I put it?
The number also has some nefarious symbolic meaning for White Supremacists. Good thing I don’t buy into any of that nonsense.
Come to think of it reaching 88 is remarkable. In baseball terms it’s the bottom of the eighth inning. For a starting pitcher to go that far is noteworthy. As long as my organs remain unremarkable I shall go on into the breach.
The equinox is vernal. Rhododendrons have blanketed the bushes outside our window. Thank you, Rhoda. I hear you singing while our hummingbird is humming and the high wind is swaying. It must be the anniversary of myself.