Happy Birthday To Me, I Live In A Tree…
Today I turned 34 years old. I share my birthday with these literary peeps:
French historian Jules Michelet (1798), American poet X.J. Kennedy (1929), American novelist Robert Stone (1937) Charles Milne (1920)
Quotable notable: It is the general rule, that all superior men inherit the elements of superiority from their mothers. — Jules Michelet
Now. I’m not complaining, but I’ve always been amazed at the lack of bookish gifts I get on my birthday. It seems like a given right? Well, you would think, but birthday after birthday and no books, little bitty booklights, book calenders, or bookstore gift cards (the mother of all bookish gifts). In fact, now that I’m thinking about it, even for Christmas I get no books. BIZARRE. Is no one paying attention? I guess not. Oh well.
Anyway, I really don’t care about presents. My three year old sang Happy Birthday to me at the breakfast table and the tears that came to my eyes would make Oprah proud. I just feel really grateful today for all my blessings, my life and my family. Happy Birthday to Me!