ANOTHER YEAR OLDER

 

I remember when this photo was taken. I was two years old. My parents ventured downtown in New Brunswick (New Jersey) and took me to the Thomas Studio. Mr. Thomas wasn't only the most popular photographer in New Brunswick, he might have also been the only one. Almost all of our relatives had portraits taken there.

It was a warm spring day. The outfit I wore was navy blue, the white shirt had a matching navy blue collar and buttons. Mr. Thomas brought out several photographic "props" and let me choose the one that I found most appealing. I chose the book.

So why am I telling this?
Because that photo is my favorite childhood portrait. It reveals the innocence and the blissful naivety that graces the threshold of our fledgling lives - - until our blessed innocence is inevitably and rudely swept away by the raw, grueling, mercilessly cruel journey that is ahead of us.

Birthdays are fun during childhood, but they become a tedious unwanted mockery as we grow older. 

What would I like for my birthday?
I'd like to completely forget it.
I'd like to have my health, my youth, my long-ago innocence. And the optimism that once kept me motivated and alive.

I'd like to expunge the relentlessly harsh and devastatingly brutal years that eventually turned me from a positive youth into a bitter, negative old man.

I'd like to eradicate all of my past mistakes, poor judgment, wasted time, profound regrets, miscalculations, unintentional blunders, thoughtlessness, self-hatred, frivolous pursuits.

I'd like to gather up the precious good times, wrap them up with ribbons and give them to myself - - in my present desperate time of need.

Alone, forgotten, in alarmingly poor health, trapped in a hopelessly squalid situation - - another tauntingly unwanted birthday.

When I die no one will know and absolutely no one will care.

I'll finally be free to let my spirit soar and haunt the nearby forest in abstract eternity.

Eternally, Jon

JUST ANOTHER DAY

I woke up early this morning, dreading my birthday - and fervently hoping that I'll never see another one.

Almost immediately, my cat Bosco leaped onto the bed and puked all over my brand new electric blanket. After my shrieks of anger and disgust subsided, I realized that this odious feline ceremony was a symbolic culmination of my entire life.

I've had bad years before, but this previous year has been the absolute worst one ever. A never-ending avalanche of personal problems and health issues have completely expunged any sense of normalcy in my existence, and are driving me very near the brink of insanity.

I never mention all of my real problems in this blog. They would be too astounding to believe.
But I plod on......foolishly feigning cautious optimism....and hoping that by some inane miracle things will eventually get better.

I know I'm not alone. We are all existing in our own private versions of hell - - although many are reluctant to admit it.

As for now, I have nothing else to offer but a few ancient photos - taken when I was blissfully innocent and unaware of the future years of agony I would be compelled to endure. 

You've undoubtedly seen these before, since I post them every year during the holidays.

I'm presently thinking of a favorite poem
Rock Me to Sleep by Elizabeth Akers Allen:

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,
Make me a child again just for tonight....

Christmas when I was one year old
 

The house we lived in when I was one yr. old.
My father took this photo on Christmas Eve

Christmas with my cousins Maryann (left) and Dianne. I was probably two years old.
 

I'm only guessing on my age here...
I either just turned three or just turned four....??

UNLUCKY?

 THEN

 NOW

It is said that my father accurately guessed the date of my birth. That wasn't exactly difficult to do. I have seven cousins on my father's side of the family and every one of them were born on either the 13th or 14th. On different months, of course.

This time around my birthday falls on Friday the 13th. A supposedly unlucky day - and an unnervingly accurate assessment of my entire life:
which has largely been one long consecutive series of disasters, mishaps, disillusion, mayhem, and misery.  

Of course, I'm a devout pessimist.

The only good thing is that I'm a Sagittarius. Which means I'm multi-talented, intelligent, good-looking, fascinating, sexy, and intriguingly unique. 

Of course, I made that up.

So, here's the Big Question:
How old am I?  

Let's put it this way - it would probably take half a dozen birthday cakes to hold all the candles.
I'm way over fifty. That's all I'll say.

But, I want to deny the ugly rumor that my childhood photos were taken by Mathew Brady.

Think about that for awhile. It will eventually get funny.


 By the way - a big happy birthday to Susan

 who shares my birthday.

ON THIS DAY

I was born on this day at 7:54 in the morning during a snowstorm. Saint Peter's Hospital, New Brunswick, New Jersey. I think it was the winter when General Washington was at Valley Forge.

The nurse brought my mother the wrong baby: a chubby, robust, Italian bambino.
"This isn't my baby!" Mom aptly observed.

A quick exchange was made, and the rest is history. I often wonder what would have happened had the babies not been exchanged.
I'd probably be in a Hoboken  restaurant today making calzones. Which actually isn't a bad idea.

Then

My regular readers are undoubtedly wondering why I post the above photo so frequently.

Well, it's because I had a decent haircut. I was disarmingly innocent. I actually had a pair of socks that matched. And it's the first and only time that I ever looked good in shorts.

Now

(sunburned and soused)

 Lately, I haven't had a decent haircut in three decades, I'm corrupt beyond redemption, I wouldn't wear shorts even if forced at gunpoint, and I not only don't have any matching socks - - I can hardly bend down to put them on.

And I usually avoid being photographed because I only look my best at a distance of fifty yards, in a heavy fog.

Old age is a bitch and a half.

I'm definitely aging quickly in this wild mountain wilderness.
If I survive, this is what I'll probably look like in another year:

By the way - Happy Birthday to Susan!
(we share the same day)
I Think, Therefore I Yam