What, oh what will I do?
Hold on a minute… A lot can happen between now and then: I can fall down the stairs after I leave this room. Even before that, I can have a heart attack while sitting at this chair. Notwithstanding such contingencies of life…
If all goes well: after six days I will wake on Wednesday, May the 20th, and I will celebrate my 80th birthday!
By gosh…I felt weird after writing the last sentence: Eighty! Really? You must be joking!
I know. It’s only a number. But it has me attached to that number. I have a history of numbers, and for me this began nearly 80 years ago – in 1935.
If my mom had anything to do with it, I would not even be thinking about my 80th birthday. Why do I say such a thing? Simply because an older sister informed me that somewhere along the line mom decided she had enough. She went to a doctor to find out what could be done about not having another child. The doctor scolded her, and advised her never to ask such a ridiculous question again. I am guessing that this incident happened in 1921, after the fourth child was born. All I know for certainty is that I am here, and I am the last child: number 12.
Today the question for me is this: What, oh what will I do?
I have six days to decide what I will do. Here are a few thoughts I’ve come up with about my birthday celebration:
Local people here in Prescott say that on your birthday you can get a free drink at each bar, grille or tavern on Whiskey Row, an historic street in our town. I’m not big on alcohol, but I may wander into a bar or two and have a shot. If I did more I’d be wasted and wouldn’t remember a thing about turning eighty.
I’ve also heard there is a steak house located on Iron Springs Road that will serve you a free steak on your birthday. Now this might be a nice thing to do.
However, what I would most like to do on my birthday is to go for a walk – preferably a walk at Lynx Lake early in the morning. I’d take my camera and shoot photos. I’d also tote my journal and write a story.
If I did this, I might even be blessed with a visitation. If you are not sure what I mean, let me explain by way of an illustration from something that happened on my fiftieth birthday.
On that day I went for a hike on a mountain trail located near Tucson. Thirty years later I’m not sure exactly what happened. I saw someone and something was experienced. That’s the short of it.
I hiked quite a distance and sat to rest on a large rock overlooking the trail I had climbed. I heard faint footsteps, and looked below and saw a hiker slowly coming toward me.
When he drew near I saw that he was an older man, perhaps as old as I will be in six days. He reached my location and only nodded recognition as he proceeded along the trail. No words were spoken, but strange at it may sound, a message was given, which I happily embraced. It was this: Never give up.
These three words stuck in my memory because something similar happened 2 years earlier. In 1983 I almost died. My wife did; we were in a car wreck and she didn’t make it. During my recovery program I went for a short walk in the desert. I saw a woman coming toward me heading in the direction of a mountain trail. I stopped and asked her a question: “How far do you plan to walk?” She smiled and said “Until I get tired, and then I’ll turn around and come back.” I felt bold and asked: “How old are you?” She laughed and replied “Soon be 65!” I was 48, and felt inspired by her comments to continue physical therapy. I worked hard and eventually became quite capable of hiking strenuous mountain trails, often more than 10 miles in one day. I did not give up.
Through the years I have written stories that grew from the chance meeting of this woman and, later, the old man. “Never give up” became my personal mantra.
One such story was written ten years ago, on the occasion of my seventieth birthday. This story was based on a visitation that took place at Lynx Lake, where the stranger that I met in 1985 came along the trail bordering the Lake. This time he stopped and sat with me, and we chatted. He told me his name and shared that he was married and gave his wife’s name, Esther. Someday, he promised, I would meet her.
I think I’ll forget about whiskey.
Instead, I plan to go for a walk at Lynx Lake. Maybe I’ll be blessed to have a conversation with my friend when I see him on my birthday. I have a feeling that Esther will be with him.
Six days and counting.
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Joseph Babinsky
First Presented to C.H.E.W.
A group for writers that meet biweekly at:
The Public Library
Prescott, Arizona
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