A couple of years back, I waxed loquacious and hopeful about my birthday. Today, as I hit forty years of age–yes, cue the black balloons–I have to note that the hopes…did not pan out quite as expected. And I still don’t know what ingredient in the salad I am, although I expect it’s a vinaigrette dressing, being somewhat astringent.

As I sit now, though, I have a decent job again. I still have my family and my home. The past year wasn’t necessarily a good one for me, but it’s done, and I am where I can move ahead with some confidence. Hopefully, I know enough now not to get too cocky about it…

Hopefully.

Let’s see if I can’t make it through another one!

Send me a present?