birthday

‘Do People Your Age …?’

Posted on by Mark Aldrich

On the eve of 57, no less.

* * * *
I’ve strolled past enough of life’s temporal landmarks—birthdays that end in zero or five, or the first time someone called me “sir,” or when I turned 28 and AARP “free gift” mailers started to arrive—that I did not think one could jump out of an alley and surprise me, but it happened. And, yes, “surprised” is a euphemism for “enraged.”

Okay, “enraged” is an exaggeration. I did NOT hit the other person, nor did I try to.

Please allow me to set the scene for you: I am 56. (This is all anyone needs to know, right?)
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No Barium to the Future

Posted on by Mark Aldrich

Dr. Oliver Sacks gave me a gift for my birthday some years ago: a writing prompt that I use each year for my birthday day: Write an essay in which you equate your age with the corresponding element number on the periodic table.

Since I am a nonscientist, this seemed like an invitation to a find a metaphor in a reflection of the year past and in one’s hopes for the year to come.

Today, November 18, 2024, I am 56. A Scorpio, whatever that means. In fact, a dear friend composed my birth chart a couple years ago and informed me that I am a “double Scorpio,” which sounds neat and intense, and my ego-driven side (in other words, all of me) hopes that this makes me sound mysterious and sexy, but it just means that both the sun and moon were in the same sign at the moment of my debut on life’s stage. To my non-astrology believing ears it just sounds like “double thing I double don’t believe in.” The periodic table as the source for an annual metaphor about one’s age, though? I fully endorse this exercise.
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Cesium and Desistium

Posted on by Mark Aldrich

Dr. Oliver Sacks gave me a gift for my birthday some years ago: a writing prompt that I use each year for my special-ish day: Write an essay in which you equate your age with the corresponding element number on the periodic table.

Since I am a nonscientist, this seemed like an invitation to a find a metaphor in a reflection of the year past and in one’s hopes for the year to come.

Today, November 18, 2023, I am 55. A Scorpio, whatever that means. A dear friend composed my birth chart a couple years ago and informed me that I am a “double Scorpio,” which sounds neat and intense, and my ego-driven side (in other words, all of me) hopes that this makes me sound mysterious and sexy, but it just means that both the sun and moon were in the same sign at the moment of my debut on life’s stage. To my non-astrology believing ears it just sounds like “double thing I double don’t believe in.” The periodic table as the source for an annual metaphor about one’s age, though? I fully endorse this exercise.
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