49 Is the New Old

St. Paddy's also marked the date I turned 49 years of age. I suppose if I were to keel today the obit would indicate I am IN my 50th year. I really must get back to healthy eating and some bit of an exercise regime.

A friend from Brandon (thanks, Steven) sent me a few photos in an email birthday wish. One is attached.

Here I would be less than 25, more than 21. The photo contains nice markers of my life from that period -- note the cowboy boot, as I lived in Western Canada. Note the running shorts as I was distance running then. Note the cocktail glass, as that will be gin and pink lemonade almost certainly (at a time when a bit of mix wasn't thought by me to ruin the perfectly good alcohol). Oh, and clearly my hatred of shaving and my disappointment with a weak chin came together most vigorously in some modest facial hair. Hey, it was the early '80s; memories of the Bee Gees were not distant.

Behind me is the wall of 17 Alpine Bay, the townhouse I shared with many roommates at once; all of us worked together. There are several short stories on that address, if I was still so inclined.

(There is another photo which my friend forwarded, over which I shall now ponder as to whether to share at this blog for the delight of others and embarrassment of self. We'll see.)