80 -- Count 'em -- 80

February 1, 1927. That's the day I came along. The Crash hadn't happened yet. Politically, Herbert Hoover was the future, albeit a short future. The place was Riverside in a California that was wonderful; which few moderns would believe ever existed.

I was just reading a blog by a woman musing on the meanings of her 40 years. I'd buy 40 in a nanosecond. On the other hand, one of Mom's friends assured me that the 80s were fine. "It's the 90s when things start to go wrong." She's in her 90s. All I can do at this point is prove her right or prove her wrong. All of those years of heavy smoking are playing catch up.

This should be the occasion to break out an old picture or two. Unfortunately, my ailing computer, tho repaired, sits in the shop in Sedona waiting for a ride; my loaner refuses to connect to the printer/scanner and isn't capable of reading the DVD full of pictures that I created as a backup. Therefore, a birthday blog that is completely wordy. I think I'll go toast GrannyJ with a wee tot of brandy! See you tomorrow, one day older.