June 23, 2013
Peter had two, really three birthdays. June 23rd and February 23rd. His mother made up the second one so he’d qualify for milk rations longer in wartimes. Then we found out that his real birthday was June 24th, as we approach June 23rd, 24th and February 23rd I am pondering how survival can affect people’s behavior in strange ways. While celebrating Peter’s last birthday in this life, his mother said, “no Pete this isn’t your birsday.” Peter bolted up from the table and said, “Mommo please, you make up so many birthdays. I never had a birthday!” Till the day he died, Peter had difficulty discerning truth from fiction. If I had died first I would never have come to this realization ~ didn’t give it analytical thought. Peter was just crazy that way.
I was born February 3rd in the Valentine month, the month of Presidents, flowers, chocolate, cherry trees ~ always loved my month , a nobility in my month in ways defined who I was ~ Connecting those qualities with who I would be “Father, I cannot tell a lie” (what George Washington supposedly said) ~ Cupid bringing love love love, mischievous Cupid ♥’s bows and arrows, darting, hither and thither, dropping chocolate Valentines everywhere. Cold month, February, good month for red wine, that tricky R that so many forget to pronounce, my month, so I got it right from the get go. Always attracted to other February children, the chocolate connection, or is it the eyes ~ I can always tell “the eyes”.
When I leave this body, if I have to come back here for any particular reason, I hope it’s February
or maybe I’ll just be Cupid
Love leavings, chocolate
Peter never got to have a month identity
Just one phantasmagorical story after another
We miss the stories
Happy Birthday, dear Peter!