One Quarter Century Down

Dear Warnie and the Boos,

So here I am, perched at the edge of my first quarter century. It sounds momentous, but in many ways, it's just another day here. It's cold, and the light is pale, as if the sun is just barely bumping its nose above the covers, and hoping that the heat will kick in. I have friends sleeping in mittens, and this morning the air froze to my beard.

And while birthdays tend to elicit the introspective, narcissistic impulse in me, this year it's very difficult to put into words. I've tried to write several times about what I've learned and forgotten, but it all comes out hackneyed and nowhere near as deep and mystical as life really is. I'm reminded of when Dad used to tell me to keep a journal when I went on trips (as I'm sure he told the both of you) and I'd come back with 5 or 6 poems--it was the only way I could really capture the richness of it all, my prose just felt too limp to really hold on to the thrill of it all.

What I feel most today is the thrill of what's next--I feel that I've gotten somewhere in the last 25 years, and that I'm ready to start diving into the work at last. It's probably the feeling most people get at graduation, but I'm a slow study. I feel that my train has started rolling, and I realized at the last minute that it would just be common sense to leap from the platform and catch the last car. I've got a long way to go, but at least I can look back at everything rolling behind me with fondness and gratitude.

I'm not sure that makes any sense at all. So I'll wrap this up with a quick discussion of one skill I have picked up.

I can drink with the best of them. I had a blast at my party, mostly because that was one of the most ridiculous football games I've ever seen. The ball almost had a life of its own, and it didn't want to be owned by any team, apparently. Actually, I liked it a lot. I love having to compensate for weather, although in the end the team that was the best won, as they should have.

But the ridiculousness of the game, plus having some friends over I haven't seen in a while, resulted in a fantastic amount of drinking. We went through half a jug of Cribari Chianti (and by we, I mean mostly me and Lee) not something I generally recommend, but there's a Donald Hall poem about it and I wasn't feeling beer. And then Jeff got me a humidor, cigars, and a bottle of nice scotch. I love nice scotch. I love it a lot.

But good old me, I remember throwing down water in between drinks, and having the good sense to throw a b-vitamin in there before bed, and I was fit as a fiddle the next day. Which was best, as it made the whole day seem like a success.

Although the apartment looks like a frat house. Got to get on that.

So, I realized there's no way to really wrap this up neatly. Which is good.

Jack