This is something I wanted to talk about yesterday. I tried twice, but my computer balked. Thank goodness I have a connection. Thanks, Rob.
April 13th was my brother Mark's 80th birthday. Can you imagine that? One of my memories was a day of shopping; my mother and I shopped and ate lunch downtown every Friday before I started school. We were at the tie counter and she was trying to decide on a new tie for his birthday. (Everyone will agree that gift-giving has reached heights unimaginable to people who lived through the Great Depression.) She didn't mention his age to the clerk and I thought that was important, so I stood on tiptoes (this is my mother's recounting) and told the clerk, "And the boy is twelve years old." For some reason, she thought that was funny and she told it again and again. So anyway, the boy was twelve years old on that day of memory. Happy Birthday, Mark.