As I woke this morning, the temperature a cool 42 degees, I realized that I was on the eve of being three quarters of a century old. Sunday, March 23 1938 I came squalling into the world preparing for war. The Germans had been at war with England and most of Europe for a year or so at my birth.
I grew up in a war atmosphere with dad going to work at Todd's Shipyard, building wooden decks on destroyers. At four I had climbed a cherry tree in our back yard and proceeded to fall, landing on my head. That may explain a lot.
Somehow I survived childhood, though it must have been a close thing. The polite way of putting it was that I was precocious. I was slow growing up. I don't have any idea when I will reach maturity. Maybe I will skip that as unnecessary.
Tomorrow, Saturday March 23, 2013 I will achieve 75 years of age, without having been shot by a jealous husband. I'm told there will be the mother of all birthday parties as well. I was, however, shot down over my request for dancing girls in scanties. Sunday, I return home after a detour to Capitola to visit my daughter, just out of the hospital a few days.