Birthday Indigos

I wouldn't call them the Birthday Blues...only one thing gives me the blues, really, and I haven't had one of those in my life for a while (you never know, though, what might happen next).

It's a combination of factors. I know I probably won't hear from my daughter. If I want to let my teenage sons take me out for dinner for my birthday, I have to pay. And I am baking my own cake, my Mom slipped me the box of red velvet cake mix when I was last in. I have to buy my own icing, though.

I'm not complaining, though. I have more than enough blessings in my life; an embarrassment of them, by some standards. I'm content, just getting older. The clock ticks and I am tired of waiting for the worms.

Part of me wants to rip through my remaining decades with a vengeance unknown to mortal man.

A part of me wants to wait for the next thunderstorm, run to the top of the nearest hill and bare my chest to the heavens and scream for God to take his best shot. He loves it when I do that. God has a great sense of humour.

And part of me just smiles and knows that there is an indigo sky, just as the sun disappears, and it has all the answers a man with a keen sense of his mortality and the insights that experience has blessed him with would ever need answer to.