O Tempora, O Mores!

Today I had Lunch with a colleague of mine who celebrated her thirtieth birthday last week. We were talking about the significance of this milestone, both legitimate and illusory.

At one point she was lamenting her age, and lamenting the Age in which we lived; she told me that she thought that “things” had only begun to worsen, and that her thirties would surely be harder a decade than any she had ever know before.

Wondering at all of this (both at the implied premise of many of her assertions as well as their following implication), I thought it best to liven the mood a trifle. I referred to the fact that she had known only a meager three decades thus far, and that even if her third should become gloomier than those that preceded it: “Two out of three ain’t bad.”

No sooner had I spoken these words when a peer of ours happened by and overheard our dirge and mirth-making. An older and wiser gentleman than either of us (recently having turned 60), he listened for a moment before offering a thoughtful counterpoint to the above sentiments.

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Which brings us to now…

Let me explain…  no, there is too much, let me sum up.
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Candace and Liam came home last Saturday morning. I had a rather rude awakening that same day at around 4am with Gaelynn vomiting in the bathroom.

She did not have a temperature, so I surmised that she had either eaten something that violently disagreed with her or that she had picked up a mild stomach virus.

I arranged with my Uncle George to sit with the younger children, while I drove to the hospital to bring my wife and newborn son home.

Sophia’s second birthday was Sunday, and we held the usual intimate gathering of immediate family at our house. Gaelynn (by now fully recovered from her mild malady) and Israel doted upon her with gifts and other baubles. Candace served cake with ice cream, and we all sang the birthday song. Her unsuccessful attempts to blow out the candle were especially endearing.

Monday morning, I felt a first twinge of discontent in my own stomach, but soldiered on to work anyway. Martin Luther King Day (or “National Day of Service” for our organization) was spent in a variety of projects and endeavors. By the time late evening arrived, I was in a state of near-delirium. Arriving home, I collapsed into bed… shivering and feverish.

I think a good night’s rest was all I needed to recover from whatever it was I had acquired. Unfortunately, I did not arise soon enough to accompany a party of colleagues and peers into Washington DC for the Inauguration festivities. No matter, I spent the day with my wee lass and my newest wee laddy.

This brings me to now… and with much reflection.

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To my daughter on her birthday…

Dearest Sophia,
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Late in the evening, I pause to consider another year that I have shared with my “wee lass” Sophia.

For today, my sweet girl, is the occasion of your second birthday.
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Better than your first, this year has been an ever-unfolding of your personality…  as with each week and each day, you have become less a baby and more of a little girl.

In appearance, your sky-blue eyes have not lessened in their intensity but increased. Complete strangers will remark to your mother and I on the power of your gaze, and I amazed by how you can make your eyes burn in both joy and displeasure.

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William Samuel Lee

William Samuel Lee was born today…  this, the fifteenth day of the month of Janus, the two-thousand and ninth year of our LORD. ‘Twas not long after Candace’s amniotic water poured forth in a great rushing torrent, that Liam followed hard upon. With a great strain and heave, Candace brought him forth. Shivering and purple, … Continue reading William Samuel Lee