Hi, everybody! If I’ve been conspicuous in my absence, it’s because of that darn party this weekend which was further complicated by the fact I have a rip-roaring case of bronchitis. Nothing says “I need my job! I’m appreciated!” like eating food prepared by an ill employer.
If I was not conspicuous in my absence, humor me and pretend like you missed me.
So, yes, I am a Christmas baby, although I made my peace with the whole getting one present for both occassions thing a long time ago. Indeed, I’ve reached an age where if no one remembered my birthday it wouldn’t bother me much a bit. Of course, the fact that no one close to me would actually dare forget my birthday probably helps matters considerably. This birthday is especially nice because Oldest Son is flying up for a week and will arrive today.
(Miss Jacki was supposed to be here at 11:30 a.m. Friday morning, but her connecting flight was canceled because we got ice the previous night. The poor kid was stuck at the Atlanta airport for 36 hours before they were able to get her on a flight up here to Podunk. She didn’t arrive until 7 p.m. Saturday night.)
Seriously, though, I don’t think much about my birthdays anymore, although this one concerns me a bit. You see, I’m 46 today, and 46 is when my mother developed an aeortal aneuryism. It required open-heart surgery (she was misdiagnosed and the aneuryism burst) and she died 5 years later from a major heart attack. This isn’t exactly comforting, especially since every time I see a new doctor and they learn this little tidbit, I’m subjected to a barrage of questions, poking, prodding and tests.
So far, so good. It still makes me nervous, though.
I have, however, done something major which will hopefully help me avoid an early death, but that will be the subject of tomorrow’s post, in which I will celebrate another anniversary of sorts.
In the meantime, I have over 50 posts in my Google reader to catch up on, and consequently some major commenting to do.
Have a lovely day, y’all.