mile markers

When my daughters were young, we would  ride the towpath along the Cuyahoga river which runs between Akron and Cleveland.  On pink  two wheelers with streamers flying we would navigate the crushed gravel path amidst the trees and turtles lazily sleeping in the canal.  Their little legs would pump crazily as they weaved along, veering from wonder to wonder with exclamations of “Stop Dad, look at this”, or “Look a butterfly!”

Each mile had a stone marker, and after one or three depending on the day, it would be “Can’t we turn around now, I’m tired”.   But there was one place where the milestone was missing, and I would always agree and tell them “Sure, at the next marker.”  ( Laughing )

And so I come to a milestone, born in 1956, and 56 today.  It has a certain symmetry.

Alexander the Great conquered the world by the time he was 30, and I have always felt thirty years was a life and any after that are a bonus.  My bonus has been rich indeed.

With family out of town, I had planned to meet a friend for dinner, but nausea this morning ended those plans. If I feel strong enough, perhaps I will hit the club and the steam room.