On November 9, 2006
Let’s talk about me.
I’m half-way to 92 today, Constant Reader, this being the anniversary of my coming into this veil of tears a-hollering and a-squirming, like. I was a joy I’m sure to my sainted ma, God rest her and keep her close, although I’m not sure she was all that verklempt to see me at the moment of my emergence given that she’d been at a cocktail party when the water broke, and, having had a pair of martinis with which to celebrate my imminent debut upon a soon-to-be amazed world – a habit then as kosher as it is today trayf – was denied the ne plus ultra of natal care in the day, to wit: the opportunity to be reduced to open-mouthed, snoring insouciance during junior’s arrival by the liberal application of narcotic anesthetics. So, a “natural” child birth was to be our conjoined fate, and the word itself in scare quotes since the idea had long been out of favor with the fairer sex by the 9th of November, 1960 and was not to emerge as preferred – dare I say: Mandatory? – option until sometime in the hazy future.
I’m celebrating by spending the day at work, defending of democracy in my own small way. A fact which I must acknowledge gives me neither joy nor even muted pleasure. The age/work thing, not the defense of democracy. I still get kind of a kick out of that.
I got a nice card from the Hobbit of course, and an early morning call from my sister, which was all to the good. But being my birth month, a flight physical is in the making and while these were never particularly fun, whatever small pleasure I might have taken from the experience in the past is muted still further by the fact that at my age, you never can quite tell. It isn’t like the phone rings after your blood work comes back because they want to share some good news. I would very much like to stop, or at least slow this aging thing because getting older is the pits, but as the wag once said, “True, but consider the alternative.”
On which topic there is good news to be found in this item:
On a Sunday in 1992 during CBS’s “60 Minutes,” Morley Safer, with a mischievous smile, pointed into a glass of French burgundy and announced to millions of viewers, “Maybe the secret’s in here!”
Safer was talking about the secret as to why Frenchmen, who love their butter-fat laden cheese, goose liver and heavy cream sauces, all washed down daily with lots of red wine, have much less heart trouble than their counterparts in the U.S.
Regardless of the admonitions that we’ll all go to hell if we become a nation of red-swilling winos in search of better health, one couldn’t avoid the facts developed by both French and U.S. medical epidemiological research that there IS something in wine, especially red, that is beneficial to the body as well as the soul.
So, a glass of red wine a day. And hey, if one’s good, two must be better. Right?
I’ll drink to that.