Today should have been my father's eighty-fifth birthday.
He died on my birthday in 2001, two weeks before 9/11, and so missed the horror of the last five years. That's probably a good thing. He outlived the Cold War. His kids were all doing well and Mom was healthy when he died. He spent that day doing some chores around the house that he had been putting off and was just walking over to light the barbeque when he had a stroke and died.
We took his ashes up to the family cabin in Alaska and flew a piper out to send him off. People from the nearby cabins who remembered came over and joined the family. We burned the ash container in a camp fire afterwards. My mother wanted me to say a few words. I got a glass of good Scotch, poured it into the fire, and repeated one his favorite toasts.
This afternoon I went out and bought a bottle of Islay malt to toast him again. If Dad was here I'd say to him, "What would you say to wee glass of malt?" He'd answer, "I guess I'd say 'Hello, wee glass of malt.'" And we both chuckle like we'd never heard that joke before.
I see that today is also the birthday of Bora Zivkovic, better known as Coturnix, and to Melissa McEwen, aka Shakespeare's Sister. Both of them are good people and great bloggers. All in all, I think that makes today a good day for birthdays.
Bora, Melissa, I poured you each a drink, but I had to drink it for you. You'll be pleased to know that it was delicious.