Once when my family was driving through Selma, Alabama (it was the summer we lived in our car as my father had to drive all over the nation to keep young football players from changing their minds about committing to BYU--thank GOODNESS the NCAA finally instituted a National Letter of Intent Day!), we saw a marquee in front of a ratty little motel that said WELCOME, JOHN WAYNE, IF YOU'RE IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD.
Apparently word had gotten out that Wayne was filming somewhere in the south, so hey! Why not throw up a welcome sign?
Anyway, if Nick Hornby gets google alerts (which I'm sure he doesn't), I'd like to take this opportunity to wish him Happy Birthday (thanks, Writer's Almanac, for sharing the news!). A LONG WAY DOWN is one of my favorite books ever. I love the way Hornby makes me laugh and cry both. I think he's brilliant. So does my brother Jimmy. So do my neighbors Jake and Annmarie.
So yeah. If you're in the neighborhood, Nick Hornby, Jimmy and Jake and Annmarie and I wish you a happy birthday.
Showing posts with label birthday wishes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday wishes. Show all posts
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Narratives
There are all kinds of narratives, and those of us who write are always looking for ways to turn them into novels or short stories, essays or poems. In other words, we want to shape our narratives for public consumption.
But some narratives are meant just for families, like the story I tell my second son every May 31st. It goes like this: "So there Sally Cannon and I were in Lindsey Gardens, eating chicken salad and orange rolls, watching her son Danny play baseball, wondering when you'd be born. Then I went home. Then my water broke. Then I went to the hospital where I was up all night trying to have you. To pass the time I watched BOB, CAROL, TED AND ALICE--possibly one of the dumbest movies ever made but back in 1984 there was no such thing as cable TV, so my choice of supremely dumb movies was limited. After BOB, CAROL, TED AND ALICE was over, I watched the TV stations sign off, after which I watched a picture of the flag on the TV screen while listening to patriotic music until the TV stations signed back on with Lynn Adair and the farm report (am I remembering his name?).
"Dude. You still weren't born until THAT AFTERNOON, after which my o.b. (adorable Dr. Ron Larkin) informed me that my second labor and delivery was worse than most women's first. To celebrate this fact, his nurse brought me a Dr. Pepper and some Cheetoes in the recovery room.
"Meanwhile they put you in my arms--a big fat red baby boy--and life never ever felt better."
Happy Birthday, Alec.
But some narratives are meant just for families, like the story I tell my second son every May 31st. It goes like this: "So there Sally Cannon and I were in Lindsey Gardens, eating chicken salad and orange rolls, watching her son Danny play baseball, wondering when you'd be born. Then I went home. Then my water broke. Then I went to the hospital where I was up all night trying to have you. To pass the time I watched BOB, CAROL, TED AND ALICE--possibly one of the dumbest movies ever made but back in 1984 there was no such thing as cable TV, so my choice of supremely dumb movies was limited. After BOB, CAROL, TED AND ALICE was over, I watched the TV stations sign off, after which I watched a picture of the flag on the TV screen while listening to patriotic music until the TV stations signed back on with Lynn Adair and the farm report (am I remembering his name?).
"Dude. You still weren't born until THAT AFTERNOON, after which my o.b. (adorable Dr. Ron Larkin) informed me that my second labor and delivery was worse than most women's first. To celebrate this fact, his nurse brought me a Dr. Pepper and some Cheetoes in the recovery room.
"Meanwhile they put you in my arms--a big fat red baby boy--and life never ever felt better."
Happy Birthday, Alec.
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