“How terribly strange to be ... seventy.”

If you hang around this life long enough, you get old enough. As of today, I am seventy years of age -- a new decade, and another reminder of how far I've gone.

Old friends, old friends
Sat on their park bench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
Of the high shoes of the old friends

Younger women tell me I don't look seventy, more like fifty-five or sixty. (No, I'm not making this up.) Then they'll assure me that "age is just a number." That's when I assure them that no one over the age of fifty ever said that. By that time, you know better. At least I did.

Old friends, winter companions, the old men
Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sunset
The sounds of the city sifting through trees
Settle like dust on the shoulders of the old friends

So far, I have yet to experience (as I knock on wood) some of the more serious afflictions of old age, including a stroke, a heart attack, or any form of cancer. Then again, throwing out my back during the "snowmaggedon" of 2009 (or whenever it was) has led to a herniated disc in my lower lumbar region, and eventually, a slight curviture of the spine (which has cost me two or three inches in height). And don't get me started on my arthritis. My left knee has seen better days.

Can you imagine us years from today
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange to be seventy

They say that "sixty is the new forty." So what, then, is seventy?

Perhaps it is the time to remember that "man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay." The men in my family have been known to live a long time. Indeed, my father was afflicted with multiple sclerosis for half his life, and lived to be eighty-six, while his mother lived to be one hundred.

Old friends, memory brushes the same years
Silently sharing the same fears

But tonight I will be properly feted at that little Irish pub down the street and on the corner. I will be treated to a steak dinner, share a glass of wine with my dearest Celia, and top it off with some form of dessert with a lighted candle stuck in it, while the staff is pressed (happily, one can only hope) into singing "Happy Birthday, dear Davy!" And for one evening, I will enjoy the moment, as time marches on, as it is wont to do for us all.

And so it goes.

Childermas Reconsidered: My Important Year

“You’re beginning something pretty important, and it will be forever.”

On this day in 1954, actor Denzel Washington, professional wrestler Lanny Poffo, and magazine editor and morning news anchor Gayle King, were born -- as was yours truly. Shortly after seven in the morning, at Saint Ann's Infant and Maternity Home on Cleveland's east side, I came into the world. About two weeks later, already settled into the second floor of a modest duplex apartment, I received my first letter.

Saint Susanna Rectory
500 Reading Road
Mason, Ohio

January 8, 1955

Master David Lawrence Alexander
875 Helmsdale Road
Cleveland, Ohio

Dear Davie,

Before this letter arrives, you will have been welcomed many times. I wish to add my voice to the chorus of welcome however.

You're beginning something pretty important, and it will be forever. You've got a big job to do, and that is to save your immortal soul that the Good God has given you. Dad and mother will help you in that, and will consider it their most important duty and privilege, which of course, it is.

But God will likely expect more then usual from you. You see, you have very good stuff in you, and that makes His investment pretty heavy and serious. So you'll have to do more than most others because of your rich endowment.

But despite the fact that you mommie and pop are pretty high class folks, even they have their shortcomings. Take dad for instance. Somehow or other, dads have a way of wishing their sons were big guys before they are. And so they treat them kinda rough some times. If he gets to throwing you up in the air and catching you, just to make you rough, you better explain to him that you do not approve. The first way to do that is to cry real loud. Sometimes that does the trick; but not always. Then you have to use stronger measures. For instance, sometime when he has a nice clean shirt on, and he gets a bit rough, just throw up on that nice clean shirt. That, Davie, will do it! If even that doesn't cure him, I guess you'll have to write me for further suggestions.

And now, Davie, if there is any time that I can help you to straighten out either dad or mom, just drop me a line, and I'll be glad to do what I can for you. And be sure to give them my best regards, and congratulations too on your safe arrival.

Faithfully yours,

[Father] Charles J Murphy

I still have the letter somewhere, amidst a host of memorabilia, papers, magazines, pamphlets, photographs -- things that seem worthless to anyone but whomever collected them. They are the things that trigger the memories, that tell the story, somewhere between the lines that are their pages, and the dust that collects thereupon.

My Favorite Year

Life has its own challenges at the age of sixty and beyond. One is past the point of building a life, and the focus is on how to spend its last years gracefully. This year, at the age of sixty-two, I am officially eligible to collect Social Security. However, I'd have to quit working full time in order to do that, and my benefits would be reduced.

But there will be no retirement at the end of this year. In fact, 2016 has probably been the best year of my career. After more than thirty years as a professional graphic designer, I made the decision seven years ago to switch to videography. One condition was to also serve as a photographer. Another was to risk failure, but that was less certain than the risk of mediocrity. Three and a half years ago, I was officially reclassified, from being a "Visual Information Specialist GS-1084" to an "Audiovisual Production Specialist GS-1071." And with the most recent evaluation, I went beyond a "Satisfactory" rating of "3" to a "Highly Satisfactory" rating of "4" on a five-point scale. When I was in college, I wanted my graphic design career to specialize in multimedia. The only problem was, the thing that I wanted to do hadn't even been invented yet. The merger of art and technology took nearly four decades for me. Far from slouching into obsolescence, I am at the very height of my career. A prediction of two years ago is continuing into fruition.

While the year has seen discoveries, and rediscoveries, there were sacrifices that had to be made, disappointments endured. They will be the subject of a piece to be released as the year draws to a close.

And so it goes.
 

Birthday 61 Revisited

IMAGE: A signpost honoring US Highway 61, a north-south route in the Midwest that generally follows the Mississippi River, and is thus a perennial theme in the American blues tradition.

Yesterday I turned sixty-one years old. It was a day I share with actor Denzel Washington, professional wrestler Lanny Poffo, and magazine editor and morning news anchor Gayle King. Granted, it was not the banner year that was the previous birthday, and “Sal” was overseas on a family matter (more on that later). On the other hand, I received a record number of over one hundred birthday greetings on Facebook, more than twice as many as the previous year, including a record number of ex-girlfriends. I also got to see the new Star Wars movie (not too shabby, in spite of what they say), and I had the best steak dinner ever at my usual just-down-the-street Irish pub.

Aside from all that, it was just another day.

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They will probably come more quickly now, and an awareness of the inevitable is setting in. I remember things that I think only happened last year, but upon closer examination, happened two or three years ago. I meet former altar servers whom I supervised at my parish, who are now married and having children. And more often than not, when I walk into a room at the agency where I work, I am the oldest person there.

IMAGE: The Nine Ages of Man by Jörg Breu the Younger (circa 1510-47).

Most men at this point realize that there are things on the "bucket list" they made up at twenty-five, that they realize they are never going to get to do. I don't believe I suffer from that as much as others. I'll probably play guitar more often than I have in the last ten years, but the chances of being in a working band do get smaller. But never say never.

I am often told that I don't look as old as I am, maybe five or even ten years younger (especially by women, which is even better). True, I don't have wrinkles, and I still only have one chin. Maybe that's the ticket. Or maybe it's because the men in my lineage tend to live a long time, well into their eighties, even after a life of smoking like a chimney and drinking like a fish (not that I'm about to mention any names). My brother has the same good fortune, further evidence of it running in the family. Even my father spent half his life stricken with multiple sclerosis, and he lived to be eighty-six-and-a-half.

VIDEO: Pete Singer performs "Get Up And Go," a tribute to growing older, in a 1967 broadcast on “The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour” (CBS).

But others are not so fortunate. I tend to look more at the obituaries than before, to see if there's anyone I know, or just how close in age I am to those who have passed on. Just a couple of months ago I read of a woman who died, who had worked at my agency for years. She hadn't been retired for one year when she was found to have cancer, and died soon after. She was only a couple of years older than myself. Could that just as easily happen to me, the odds notwithstanding? Now, if I were diagnosed with, say, pancreatic cancer, I'd be in a lot of pain, but I know I'd have a timetable, about six to eight months.

But I'm not waiting for that. For the following year of Our Lord 2016, I will begin the process of putting my affairs in order; the composition of a Last Will and Testament, detailed instructions on my funeral and burial arrangements, and what to do with my library of books, divided by subject matter, and where they will go. The hard part is with my musical instrument collection, which includes a banjo that's one hundred years old and belonged to my great-uncle, Otto. Who in what little there is of my line wants an old banjo?

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IMAGE: A daughter pays final respects to her mother.

Sal learned the news earlier this month. Her mother passed away during the early morning hours, falling asleep and leaving this world peacefully at the age of ninety-one. She and her brothers were soon on a plane to the Philippines. “Nanay” (pronounced NAH-nye, roughly translated as "Mommy" or "Mama") grew up in the province of Bataan (which is not pronounced buh-TAN, but bah-tah-AHN) located west of Manila along the Manila Bay. During the Japanese occupation in the 1940s, she spent much of the time in hiding, to avoid being captured by the Japanese, who used the native girls as "comfort women." After the war, she married a man from Pampanga (a province north of Manila), and they made their home in Navotas City (within Metro Manila, northwest of the capital city itself), raising five daughters, one of them adopted, and four sons. Together the couple operated a grocery store in neighboring Malabon City. After her husband had passed, she lived alone in a house in Malabon, not far from Sal and her own family, accompanied by a live-in caregiver.

IMAGE: A butterfly, said in Chinese and Pinoy folklore to represent the spirit of the deceased, pays a visit while her granddaughter is baking cookies.

The Funeral Mass was held on the evening of the vigil itself, and burial was the next morning. Nanay was laid to rest as a Bride going forth to meet her Bridegroom, in the gown from her golden wedding anniversary, a traditional Filipino formal dress known as a “terno” (from the Spanish for "matching"), characterized by pointed "butterfly sleeves" at the shoulders. Indeed, butterflies appear to be a characteristic in Filipino folklore. As the family was sitting down to the traditional dinner for the ninth day after their mother's passing, they were visited in the house by a swarm of butterflies. The Chinese say -- Sal is one-fourth Chinese, and most Filipinos are at least partially so -- that the winged creatures represent the deceased loved ones who return to comfort those left behind, and to celebrate the welcome of their new sojourner.

IMAGE: Sal greets a band of carolers in front of her house on the eve of Christmas.

There have been the usual matters of the disposition of the mother's affairs. We talk about every other day by videophone, usually briefly. She is never left alone long enough when she's home, always inundated with a steady stream of visitors, family members taking her one place or another. One thing is for sure, and the family has been warned; next time she goes, I'm going with her. Maybe it's just me, but I think three Christmases away in a row, whatever the reason, is about enough. They only have two seasons, a wet one and a dry one. At least I'll get to pack light.

With any luck, I'll get to see Christmas on the other side of the planet. Maybe I'll get to see a parade of parols, as well as a unique brand of carolers, up close and personal.

And so it goes.
 

Childermas Reconsidered: Turning Sixty

“You’re beginning something pretty important, and it will be forever.”

On this day in 1954, actor Denzel Washington, professional wrestler Lanny Poffo, and magazine editor and morning news anchor Gayle King, were born -- as was yours truly. Shortly after seven in the morning, at Saint Ann's Infant and Maternity Home on Cleveland's east side, I came into the world. About two weeks later, already settled into the second floor of a modest duplex apartment, I received my first letter.

Saint Susanna Rectory
500 Reading Road
Mason, Ohio

January 8, 1955

Master David Lawrence Alexander
875 Helmsdale Road
Cleveland, Ohio

Dear Davie,

Before this letter arrives, you will have been welcomed many times. I wish to add my voice to the chorus of welcome however.

You're beginning something pretty important, and it will be forever. You've got a big job to do, and that is to save your immortal soul that the Good God has given you. Dad and mother will help you in that, and will consider it their most important duty and privilege, which of course, it is.

But God will likely expect more then usual from you. You see, you have very good stuff in you, and that makes His investment pretty heavy and serious. So you'll have to do more than most others because of your rich endowment.

But despite the fact that you mommie and pop are pretty high class folks, even they have their shortcomings. Take dad for instance. Somehow or other, dads have a way of wishing their sons were big guys before they are. And so they treat them kinda rough some times. If he gets to throwing you up in the air and catching you, just to make you rough, you better explain to him that you do not approve. The first way to do that is to cry real loud. Sometimes that does the trick; but not always. Then you have to use stronger measures. For instance, sometime when he has a nice clean shirt on, and he gets a bit rough, just throw up on that nice clean shirt. That, Davie, will do it! If even that doesn't cure him, I guess you'll have to write me for further suggestions.

And now, Davie, if there is any time that I can help you to straighten out either dad or mom, just drop me a line, and I'll be glad to do what I can for you. And be sure to give them my best regards, and congratulations too on your safe arrival.

Faithfully yours,

[Father] Charles J Murphy

Sixty is the new forty.

Parade magazine recently broke the big news of a generation, that life really begins, not at forty, but at the age that everybody with an unpublished thought claims only seems like forty. Or something. We examine it more closely as we read the signs of The Times. For example, there's the one in New York ...

Yes, my generation, born between 1946 and 1964, has physical concerns: Friends are dying, joints are aching, and memories are failing. There are financial issues, with forced retirement and unemployment, children needing money and possibly a bed, and dependent parents. But for many of us, it is a psychological quandary that is causing the most unpleasantness: looking around and suddenly being the oldest.

Every generation gets old, but for those who were told we’d be forever young, it just seems more painful …

... which comes off as only so much self-indulgence. One is more inclined to identify with the voice of a similar name in London.

And please, can we stop this “60 is the new 40” thing? No one is saying 20 is the new 10. And who wants to be 40 anyway? An insipid, insecure age.

They're right.

I remember turning forty. I had been divorced two years earlier, and was only then getting used to the solitary life on my own terms again. I wouldn't return to that era even if it did buy me another twenty years on this earth below. The office environment had become thoroughly dysfunctional, my supervising official was an alcoholic and a sadist who made my life absolutely miserable, and who fooled everyone with a title (rather easily, I'm sorry to say) into thinking nothing was amiss. They would learn differently only five years later, and my view of management was forever changed (the details of which will find a proud place in my memoirs, or my retirement luncheon, whichever comes first).

I remember turning fifty. Sal and I were sitting in an Irish bar in Cincinnati. We were in town for her to meet my family. My life, for the first time in what seemed like … well, ever, was more or less where I wanted it to be. And where I was, was a helluva long way from forty.

I remember turning sixty. Or at least I will. But how, exactly?

It is when reading the New York Times piece, that part of you wants to say, oh, cry me a river already! And then you remember that you're actually talking to yourself. Yes, "my generation, born between 1946 and 1964," really didn't want to end up like our parents; old, in the sense of being "old-fashioned," confined to the rocking chair and decrying "these kids today." But you really can't help it, because "these kids today" really are a pain in the ass. You see it in the workplace. Not only do they not show much respect to their elders, but they really don't see the point of it. They are younger, brighter, prettier, more enlightened, and in many cases, they outrank you. What more could you ask of a generation?

At the place where I work, I am older than most of the people I see in the office, in the hallways, in meetings. The exceptions are almost all of Senior Executive rank, which I try not to think about, since over the years, people who couldn't organize a sock drawer have assured me that I have no future in management (and looking at them, I can see why). I have a son who's older than one political appointee or another, any one of whom could very well feel obliged to explain to me how the world works. It doesn't actually happen to me personally, but I know it happens to others. Alas, many of the Enlightened Ones will be replaced in two years, by those who appear even younger, but who are not, because I got older.

To reach sixty is to know that your own mortality is just around the corner. People get heart attacks at this age. Even the annual issue of Esquire magazine, the one devoted to maturing through the decades of life, concedes that after your fifties, "you're on your own." For me, going back to "the Latin Mass" was a sign of getting on in years, when after seeing "folk Masses" consisting mostly of aging adolescents trying to hang on to the unattainable, one is even less tolerant of anything with the appearance of novelty. Who wants to remember, or be remembered for, the things that pass like leaves in the wind?

Finally, and as can be discerned from the above, to reach sixty is to no longer care so much what others think of you, secure in the knowledge that, even if you had to, the die that is you has been pretty well cast by this point, and the world is going to have to live with it, if only for a little while longer.

The above being said, one can enter the later passages of life gracefully. Witness a certain Phyllis Tucker-Saunders of Newark, New York, for whom time will not slow her down. And there are so many others, who can look in the mirror and say, well, at least I still have my health. I can say that as well, up to a point. I have a herniated disc that got a good dose of Cortizone back in 2011, and there is the occasional flare-up of arthritis in my knees. I cannot walk for great distances without a cane, and even a minor back injury prevents me from being able to stand on a moving bus. So I have a cane with me, and I have to sit down.

And I'll still take to the hills around Mount Rainier when I tour the northwest. It's harder now than a decade ago. Still ...

On the other hand, people keep telling me (and without any prompting) that I really don't look sixty. Sal assures me of the same thing -- with my hat on.

The Road Not Taken -- Yet

It is the point in life when the light at the end of the tunnel that is retirement looms ever larger. They tell you to start planning for the inevitable, and so I shall. The soonest I would ever retire from the government is the end of 2020, when I will have just turned sixty-six. But even then, I imagine I will continue working for several more years.

And why wouldn't I?

When I was in college studying graphic design, I wanted to pursue an academic minor in multimedia. But even though I learned to use simple video equipment, and made a couple of animation films, what I really wanted to do with my life hadn't been invented yet. In the coming year, I will return to my studies in web design and development. I also found the sort of curriculum that is suited for my needs, not to mention my budget. Between that and a growing aptitude in video production, and I can finally say I have reached that goal of forty years ago, the marriage of art and technology. My next few years in my evolving profession could very well be my finest. I was always a late bloomer anyway.

And so it was, that after the Latin Mass today, for which I was the Master of Ceremonies, the sacristan dragged me to the rectory basement to help her bring my present upstairs. I tried really hard to act surprised by what I found as a turned the corner, really I did.

And so it goes, turning yet another corner, on to the next decade.
 

Christ-Mass: Day 4 (Childermas)

“On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, four calling birds ...”

Actually, they would have been referred to as "colly birds," meaning a form of blackbird. This is one of a number of lines that had become corrupted over the centuries. But enough about the song. Today is the Feast of the Holy Innocents, the infant males under the age of two in Bethlehem that King Herod had put to death -- tradition has put the number at 14,000 -- in the hopes of doing away with the newborn King, which he saw as a threat to his power (Matthew 2:16-18).

Obviously he didn't know the half of it.

In Spanish-speaking countries (including, uh, Spain), as well as former colonies such as the Philippines, this is traditionally a day given to playing practical jokes, much like April Fools' Day elsewhere. The pranks are known as "inocentadas" and their victims are called "inocentes," or alternatively, the pranksters are the "inocentes." Don't ask me why.

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This day is significant for a number of other reasons ...

• On this day in 1065, Westminster Abbey was consecrated.

• On this day in 1768, Taksin the Great was crowned king of the newly established Thonburi Kingdom in the new capital at Thonburi, present-day Thailand.

• On this day in 1832, John Calhoun became the first Vice President of the USA to resign.

• On this day in 1836, at the Old Gum Tree near present-day Adelaide, Royal Navy Rear–Admiral John Hindmarsh read a proclamation establishing the British province of South Australia.

• On this day in 1846, Iowa became the 29th of our United States.

• On this day in 1856, Woodrow Wilson, the 28th President of the United States (1913-21), was born.

• On this day in 1869, William Semple of Mount Vernon, Ohio, obtained a patent for chewing gum.

• On this day in 1879, the Tay Rail Bridge, spanning the Firth of Tay in Scotland between Dundee and the Wormit, collapsed during a violent storm while a train was passing over it, killing all on board.

• On this day in 1905, Earl "Fatha" Hines, the father of modern jazz piano, was born, as was the forerunner of the NCAA, the Intercollegiate Athletic Association of the United States.

• On this day in 1922, Stan Lee, the great American comic book writer, was born.

• On this day in 1937, Composer Maurice Ravel died in Paris.

• On this day in 1945, Congress officially recognized the Pledge of Allegiance.

• On this day in 1948, The Douglas DC-3 airliner NC16002, en route from San Juan, Puerto Rico to Miami, Florida, disappeared in the area known as the Bermuda Triangle.

• On this day in 1954, actor Denzel Washington, professional wrestler Lanny Poffo, and magazine editor and morning news anchor Gayle King, were born.

... and so was YOURS TRULY.

And speaking of practical jokes, Sal is just now leaving the Philippines to return to the States, too late to celebrate my damn birthday, so what do I get to do? I'm going to attend an Eagle Court of Honor, that's what I'll do. My son is in town, so he's taking me to dinner, and I'm giving him his presents. Otherwise I'd be drinking heavily and watching old movies.

Meanwhile, the little Heartbreaker comes back tomorrow, and gets to make it up to me. Ain't I a prince?

(VIDEO: The Coventry Carol, anonymous, 15th or 16th century, performed by Collegium Vocale Gent, conducted by Peter Dijkstra, from the Begijnhofkerk, Sint-Truiden, Flanders, Belgium. IMAGE: The author, January 1955, in Cleveland, Ohio, from the Alexander Family Archives. H/T to Patricia Alexander Drybala.)
 

paul@twentyeight

“Sunday's child is full of grace.”

That was the quotation on a set of announcement cards hurriedly assembled one evening, twenty-eight years ago today, when my son Paul David Alexander was born. The 6th of October fell on a Sunday in 1985 as well.

Before he entered the world, safe within his mother's womb, he was known as “Tad.” The name was generic enough, since we didn't know what we were getting at the time. It was also reminiscent of “Tadpole,” a nickname one of my uncles would call me, whenever he into town from the farm. For much of elementary school, Paul was known as “Alex,” and for a time, carried on a tradition for three generations (although for his grandfather, it was met with three or four heads popping out the door at its calling, rather than one).

It was on the first day of school, either in the fifth or sixth grade, when the teacher asked him his name, and with only a moment to think of something clever, he responded with “Cubby,” and it managed to stick with him for most of the year that followed. By the time he was a senior in high school, he went by the stage name of “Memento Mori,” while making the rounds in the local freestyle and hip-hop circuit. In 2009, he entered the U S Air Guitar championships as “Fender Splendor,” winning the title in the Philadelphia regionals, and placing sixth in the nation. This latest moniker is also his Twitter handle, albeit temporarily under the name of “scary benghazi egg.” Don't ask me why.

In the past fifteen months, he completed his senior year at the über-prestigious Savannah College of Art and Design in Atlanta, Georgia, majoring in Interactive Design and Game Development. In August of last year, following a summer internship, he was offered a position with Camouflaj, a recently opened and up-and-coming design studio in Bellevue, Washington, across one of the numerous lakes from Seattle. Upon graduating “fere cum laude” (that is, with a 3.4 GPA, thus almost with honors) with a Bachelor of Fine Arts, he was already on the design team for his firm's first release, “Republique,” the first video game in history to be optimized for mobile devices (specifically, the iOS platform for iPhones, although Mac and PC versions are in development). Paul has also been designated as lead designer for their next endeavor, known only as “Project Porpoise.”

Meanwhile, he has engaged his father's professional services in a bit of rebranding. (I can hear my typography professor now, suggesting I go back and do one hundred more versions of this until I get it right.)

Along the way, he has appeared on HuffPost Live this past summer, as a guest interviewer of Nolan Bushnell, founder of Atari, and author of the book Finding the Next Steve Jobs. (Paul starts at about 09:30.) In the time since that show was done, Paul and I have conversed at length, not only on the future of game design, and the design industry in general, but regarding its effects on popular culture. Paul sees himself on the fast track, and aspires to rise to critical acclaim within his profession.

And yet, there is also a transformation of sorts. In an age when so many of his generation have so many means of communication at their disposal, does it take away from their humanity, their ability to simply talk to one another, rather than walk through the streets of the city, their ears plugged into devices, their eyes half-fixed to something called “Google Glass,” only being half-aware of their real-life surroundings?

If this is the future, the impertinent question remains: is this an opportunity to invent, or to warn of, the next big thing?

Paul must go to Seattle for the second half of this month, to complete the big project. One can only work via computer from 2500 miles away for so long. Even with the latest technology, there is no replacement for being there, which may in itself be an answer to the question ... in question.

Playing the blues harp on the street at the Pike Place Market, Seattle, Washington, August 2003.

His business in Atlanta having been completed, he hopes to move to that fair city in the northwest by the end of this year. He first went to visit there with me ten years ago this past summer. It was to his mind the best vacation he ever had. And even though living in one place is not the same experience as just visiting, I believe that Paul will discover that Seattle and its environs will agree with him. One can only hope.
 

Childermas Revisited

Okay, we're back. Here is what happened on this day after 1954 (a "Marian Year" by the way):

• On this day in 1973, Alexander Solzhenitsyn published "Gulag Archipelago," an expose of the Soviet prison system.

• On this day in 1981, Elizabeth Jordan Carr, the first American test-tube baby, was born in Norfolk, Virginia.

• On this day in 1982, Nevell Johnson Jr, a black man, was mortally wounded by a police officer in a Miami video arcade, setting off three days of race-related disturbances that left another man dead.

• On this day in 1989, Alexander Dubcek, the former Czechoslovak Communist leader who was deposed in a Soviet-led Warsaw Pact invasion in 1968, was named president of the country's parliament.

• On this day in 1999, Clayton Moore, television's "Lone Ranger," died in West Hills, Calif., at age 85.

• On this day in 2004, in New York City, activist and author Susan Sontag died at age 71, and actor Jerry Orbach died at age 69.

• On this day in 2005, former top Enron Corporation accountant Richard Causey pleaded guilty to securities fraud, and agreed to help pursue convictions against Enron founder Kenneth Lay and former CEO Jeffrey Skilling.

• On this day in 2008, the Detroit Lions completed an 0-16 season, the NFL's worst ever, with a 31-21 loss to the Green Bay Packers.

• On this day in 2009, 43 people died in a suicide bombing in Karachi, Pakistan, where Shia Muslims were observing the Day of Ashura.

• On this day in 2010, Popular protests began in Algeria against the government, as part of the so-called "Arab Spring."

There was a time when having a birthday between Christmas and the New Year was something of a curse. I used to say my parents sent me a card every year out of guilt. Contrast that with this year, when I received forty birthday greetings from Facebook, same as last year. And when I arrived at Pat's house in West Chester, the siblings (and one of the nephews) were all there.

Mom didn't send me a card either, but there's a perfectly good explanation. More on that later.

(IMAGE: A rare photo of the Salus Populi Romani, crowned by Pius XII in 1953. The crown inscription reads: "Pius XII PM Deiparae Reginae Kal MCMLIV A Mar." Pope Pius XII to the Queen Mother of God, Marian Year 1954. After the renovation, the crown was deleted and is now in the museum of the sacristy of Saint Peter. The picture today in Rome exists therefore only without the crown.)
 

Christ-Mass: Day 4 (Childermas)

“On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, four calling birds ...”

Actually, they would have been referred to as "colly birds," meaning a form of blackbird. This is one of a number of lines that had become corrupted over the centuries. But enough about the song. Today is the Feast of the Holy Innocents, the infant males under the age of two in Bethlehem that King Herod had put to death -- tradition has put the number at 14,000 -- in the hopes of doing away with the newborn King, which he saw as a threat to his power (Matthew 2:16-18).

Obviously he didn't know the half of it.

In Spainish-speaking countries (including, uh, Spain), as well as former colonies such as the Philippines, this is traditionally a day given to playing practical jokes, much like April Fools' Day elsewhere. The pranks are known as "inocentadas" and their victims are called "inocentes," or alternatively, the pranksters are the "inocentes." Don't ask me why.

+    +    +

This day is significant for a number of other reasons ...

• On this day in 1065, Westminster Abbey was consecrated.

• On this day in 1768, Taksin the Great was crowned king of the newly established Thonburi Kingdom in the new capital at Thonburi, present-day Thailand.

• On this day in 1832, John Calhoun became the first Vice President of the USA to resign.

• On this day in 1836, at the Old Gum Tree near present-day Adelaide, Royal Navy Rear–Admiral John Hindmarsh read a proclamation establishing the British province of South Australia.

• On this day in 1846, Iowa became the 29th of our United States.

• On this day in 1856, Woodrow Wilson, the 28th President of the United States (1913-21), was born.

• On this day in 1869, William Semple of Mount Vernon, Ohio, obtained a patent for chewing gum.

• On this day in 1879, the Tay Rail Bridge, spanning the Firth of Tay in Scotland between Dundee and the Wormit, collapsed during a violent storm while a train was passing over it, killing all on board.

• On this day in 1905, Earl "Fatha" Hines, the father of modern jazz piano, was born, as was the forerunner of the NCAA, the Intercollegiate Athletic Association of the United States.

• On this day in 1922, Stan Lee, the great American comic book writer, was born.

• On this day in 1937, Composer Maurice Ravel died in Paris.

• On this day in 1945, Congress officially recognized the Pledge of Allegiance.

• On this day in 1948, The Douglas DC-3 airliner NC16002, en route from San Juan, Puerto Rico to Miami, Florida, disappeared in the area known as the Bermuda Triangle.

• On this day in 1954, actor Denzel Washington, professional wrestler Lanny Poffo, and magazine editor and morning news anchor Gayle King, were born.

... and so was I.

Closer to the present, the Alexander clan is getting together at Pat's house tonight for a family reunion. As long as we're all there, there might well be occasion to remember whatever it was, that happened at a maternity hospital in Cleveland fifty-eight years ago.

(VIDEO: The Coventry Carol, anonymous, 15th or 16th century, performed by Collegium Vocale Gent, conducted by Peter Dijkstra, from the Begijnhofkerk, Sint-Truiden, Flanders, Belgium. IMAGE: The author, January 1955, in Cleveland, Ohio, from the Alexander Family Album. H/T to Patricia Alexander Drybala.)
 

Patricia@50

By the time I entered second grade in the fall of 1962, Mom was already halfway through her fifth pregnancy. I was seven going on eight, my sister Mary was six, and Steve was five, so we were already what Mom would call "a handful." She had a miscarriage in 1959, but she and Dad took another chance on rounding out the Alexander brood with one more.

Patricia Ann Alexander was born fifty years ago tonight, as this is published. When the time came, Dad took Mom to Cincinnati's Good Samaritan Hospital, and we spent the after-school hours at the Icard's house next door, as we hung out with Albert and Clinton Lee, two of the funniest guys I ever knew growing up. Mrs Icard got a call the next evening. "What? Really?? At five-forty-five???" is about all I remember about it. We were all together again soon after.

Pat was the "baby" of the family, you could say. Unlike the case with some other families, I don't think you could accuse her of having been spoiled or doted on as a result. That would have been extremely unlikely in the tightly-wound clock that was the Alexander house.

In more recent years, after a stint as a secretary at Procter and Gamble, she accepted a position as the executive assistant to the general manager of the regional transit authority, which is not too shabby. Then she was found to have a rare form of ovarian cancer, one that only three surgeons in the entire country could treat. Fortunately, one of them was in Cincinnati, and the procedure was successful. In what had to be a life-altering experience, she took measure of her priorities, and did not return to her old job. With her husband as a successful sales representative with Nestlé, Pat took on the primary role of assisting Mom in taking care of Dad, by that time in the latter stages of multiple sclerosis. She would travel across town to be at the house three or four days a week ("at least," she would mutter to herself at this point). The others pitched in as well; her brother, her sister, and the nephews. But it was Pat who did the lion's share on the front lines.

With the passing of Dad last February, and Mom in an Assisted Living apartment, her load has been lightened, although she still goes to visit Mom about every other day (so far as I know; I mean, it's not as if they check in with me, okay?). Pat has lived out her submission to the only one of Ten Commandments where God essentially makes a trade-off with those who love him: Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long in the land which the LORD your God gives you.” (Exodus 20:12) In other words, if you do A, the LORD will give you B. Or something.

She may not be far from the kingdom of God, assuming it doesn't go to her head. Happy birthday anyway, Pat.

POSTSCRIPT: The above story appeared to go over well, since I got another one from the birthday girl: "I was told some years ago by two of Dad's P&G co-workers at the time ... that once he got news at the office that Mom was going to deliver, he made no mad dash to the hospital. Instead, he calmly finished up his work before leaving." Yeah, that was Dad alright. Probably figured they could start without him waiting outside with the other nervous fathers. (Uh, so, Pat, who took Mom to the hospital?)
 

Art-For-Art’s-Sake Theatre: Paruparong Bukid

Time once again for (an unusual twist on) our usual midday Wednesday feature.

Today is "Sal's" birthday. It's a special one this time, because it's divisible by five or ten. Other than that, I cannot disclose her age, but everyone says she looks ten years younger, and not just when I'm around. So this one's for her ...

Paruparong Bukid (Butterflies in the Field) is a humorous song comparing a butterfly to a Filipina dressed in her glamorous formal dress with tall butterfly sleeves, as she moves down the aisle of the church, swaying her hips as every one looks on. This recording in the first clip is performed by the Filipina singer and actress Nora Aunor.

Paru-parong bukid na lilipad-lipad
Sa tabi ng daan papaga-pagaspas
Isang bara ang tapis Isang dangkal ang manggas
Ang sayang de kola Isang piyesa ang sayad.

May payneta pa siya ... Uy!
May suklay pa mandin ... Uy!

Naguas de ojetes ang palalabasin
Haharap sa altar at mananalamin (mananalangin)1
At saka lalakad nang pakendeng-kendeng

The song is a popular staple of collegiate glee clubs, both in the Philippines and in the United States. In those settings, especially in the States, they tend to be embellished somewhat, often by starting out with a "paru-paru" sound, as if to emulate the butterfly's fluttering about. One of the most popular recordings on YouTube is by the Northwest Missouri State University Madraliers, as recently performed at the Liberty United Methodist Church in Kansas City, Missouri. By now, I'll bet you're curious as to what it means in English.

A butterfly from the fields; flitting and floating by;
waiting by the main trail, fluttering in the air.
Sari wrapped around her, sleeves as wide as my palm,
Skirt’s a trifle oversized,2 ends dragging on the ground.

Hair held with a fancy pin. Oh!
Her hand twirling a comb. Oh!

Decorated half-slip, drawing others to peep.
She would face the altar, ogling her own image,
She would come and tease us, hips swaying like a duck.

"Swaying like a duck." Now fellas, THAT'S how you talk to a girl.

This third clip is an example of the folk dance associated with the song. It's cut off in a few places, but the others available were all little kids, so what can I say? Notice in this case, that the dresses are not the formal variety referred to earlier, but are known as the "Maria Clara" style more common to the provinces. I rather prefer them myself.

I also prefer when Sal performs this dance for me herself, which is really quite entertaining. She is that, and so much more. Happy birthday to my best friend. Mahal kita!

1 The term "mananalamin" appears in most versions, meaning "to gaze in the mirror." Some versions, however, apply the context of the reference to an altar, thus using "mananalangin," meaning "to pray."

2 Also translated as "shaped like a grand piano." Don't ask me why.
 

Paul: Still Preoccupied With 1985!

Paul David Alexander turns twenty-seven years old today.

My son thinks we share completely different world views. He also makes it sound like he's on a higher plane than his dear old Dad.

HAH! Foolish boy! It is to laugh!

Truth is, we do share some of the same opinions about pop culture; namely that the mainstream suffers terminally from a lack of imagination. He was always one step ahead of what the others were into, because somewhere along the way, somebody broke it down for him, into the universal archetypes that make for lasting appeal to the masses. Sooner or later, the rest of the world grows tired of the same old same old, and comes around to that which you discovered first. Before then, it is like gnostic wisdom that you keep in a private purse all to yourself. After then, the world knows what you knew before they did.

Since Bruce Springsteen, Madonna
Way before Nirvana

He also thinks we have diametrically opposed political views, not realizing until we sit down that, if two forces are far enough away on an ideological spectrum, they keep on going until they find, that they are not on a straight line but a circle, and will meet somewhere sooner or later.

We have been exchanging a lot of emails lately. We share articles about the political race. One of the best was written by Conor Friedersdorf for, of all things, The Atlantic, entitled "Why I Refuse to Vote for Barack Obama."

The whole liberal conceit that Obama is a good, enlightened man, while his opponent is a malign, hard-hearted cretin, depends on constructing a reality where the lives of non-Americans -- along with the lives of some American Muslims and whistleblowers -- just aren't valued. Alternatively, the less savory parts of Obama's tenure can just be repeatedly disappeared from the narrative of his first term, as so many left-leaning journalists, uncomfortable confronting the depths of the man's transgressions, have done over and over again.

Yeah, I could see that. But I don't imagine most of his friends could, which is what sets him apart; not that he is a closet conservative waiting to come out (no chance of that, amigos!), but because he thinks for himself.

There was U2 and Blondie
And music still on MTV

Meanwhile, Paul has returned from a two-month internship at Camouflaj, a game design and development studio in Bellevue (Seattle), Washington, where he was a guest for a podcast on August 20. If you click on and look for Camouflaj Radio Tape 01, Paul starts in at 27:00, and dominates the conversation until about 38:00. That's eleven minutes of a guy who talks about trends in the gaming industry and the bigger picture, as though he's already got his street cred, and he hasn't even graduated yet.

Paul is beginning his senior year at the über-prestigious Savannah College of Art and Design (Atlanta Campus), where he is completing his studies in Interactive Design and Game Development. In 2002, he was a recovering juvenile delinquent. In 2012, he maintains a 3.0 GPA to retain his partial academic scholarship, and works part-time tending bar in downtown Atlanta. Sometimes he comes up to DC to work weekends at either Wonderland or the Looking Glass Lounge. He makes more in two nights in DC than in one week in Atlanta. He works that hard, and the job market sucks that bad.

The above are only a few of the reasons why we here at man with black hat are announcing the Paul David Alexander Scholarship Fund. Simply drop your loose change or poker winnings over at the Paypal widget located (for the time being) at the top of the sidebar, and all proceeds will go to helping a young man realize his dream of creating The Next Big Thing.

Her two kids in high school
They tell her that she's uncool

Last year, when he turned twenty-six, he lamented to the entire Twittersphere, his departure from the demographic to which the hip-hop genré directed its appeal. It was as if he was no longer one of the cool kids. But hey, no one ever tried to tell Frank Sinatra he wasn't cool, and live to tell the tale. Frankie was Elvis before Elvis was Elvis. They don't come any more cool than that. And it shouldn't matter to Paul either ...

'Cause he's still preoccupied
With nineteen,
    nineteen,
        nineteen-eighty-five.

(Also for your viewing pleasure are tributes from 2009, 2010, and 2011.)
 

He would have been 87 years old today ...