No wise man ever wished to be younger.
Yesterday, Winston Churchill would have turned 133 years old. My Aunt Esther would have turned 96. I turned 65. Aunt Esther used to send me birthday cards that said “Happy Birthday to you, me and Winnie.” For many years, I didn’t really know who Winnie was but, when I was turning 12, I saw a newspaper that said he was preparing to celebrate his 80th birthday. In school, we were learning the proper form for composing letters and were assigned to write a letter to someone. I wrote a birthday letter to Mr. Churchill. My teacher told me he was a Sir and surprised me by even knowing his address — No. 10 Downing Street, London, England. I mailed it. Several weeks later, I received a note from him. It was handwritten on 10 Downing Street paper. He said:
I am so much obliged to you for your very kind
token of goodwill on my birthday.
Winston S. Churchill
My mother almost fell off of the porch when she got it out of the mailbox. It ranks right up there with my furry buddy and the family Bible on my list of things I’d grab if my house caught on fire.
I’m thinking this is my best birthday yet. I went on Medicare and the supplement costs so much less than I was paying for insurance that I’ve been able to upgrade my aging computer setup. I earn my living on my computer so this is a huge plus. I celebrated with my friend, Ruth, my sister, Louise, and my niece, Katherine. After dinner, they gave me my all-time favorite—a Hall’s chocolate-chocolate cake with chocolate roses. Yes, it is almost as good as sex. They also gave me a purse for my new iPod Touch, sheep for my collection, and a glass Christmas ornament that looks like my furry buddy if I’d let his fur grow to show length. Another friend gave me a lovely book of historic photos of Fort Wayne. Wow. I wonder if Winnie ever had it so good.