Birthday blues or so far 50 not so nifty

This is earliest recorded photo of me. It was taken 50 years ago on 3 December 1956. I was two days old.

That ear now has two piercings but this is not one of my more awkward/awful photos.

Having made an early entrance into the world in an apparently misguided effort to avoid the dreaded Christmas birthday, I've really only myself to blame for bad birthdays.

Even when the birthdays suck, I'm really quite glad to still be sucking air thereby proving wrong the medicos who were convinced I'd not make it to ten.

For some strange reason, I was optimistic that this year's anniversary of my entrance into the world would rise further above the baseline of not totally sucking.

While it wasn't one of the worst on record (16th & 21st immediately come to mind) but anytime I find myself crying that's not a good sign. I'm not a real waterworks or does emotions well sort of person. Besides, it's tough on the cat who only really wants to comfort me and just annoys me as a result.

I know that a meltdown over my inability to kitchener a garter stitch moebius has very little to do with the knitting.
I ended up cheating with a 3-needle bind-off after the third attempt just produced fuzzy mohair knots. Somehow I don't think the world will end as a result.

I'm about as tempted to take the bind-off out and try again as I am to add embellishment to the finished item.

Which is another way of saying, I got out the extra "jewelry" and then took the title of my wounded mobile to heart, pencilling in that embellishment thing for that same day.

One of the pigs, the star and the moon from the mobile decided to fly away recently. They only made it as far as the kitchen table so I'll be restringing this with some fishing line soon.

So why was I crying? Intellectually I know it is a reaction to combination of the birthday curse and one too many recent losses when I'm geographically distant from the people I'm most emotionally connected to that derailed my usual ability to put a brave face and positive spin on almost any and every thing.

In another not too terrible photo and brave face, spin moment, 25 years ago, I cleaned up pretty well for my law school graduation snap.
Meanwhile, here's a nod to the ones that brung me -- aka my parents.

This charming photo was taken when they got married in the Spring/Summer of 1944. I'd make an effort to record the exact date but that would mean trying to find yet another thing in a weekend when the inability to put hand to items is way too emotionally loaded.

Whistlestop knitting is slated for this afternoon. The event now has a my space place in addition to being a calendar item on my web page and the bar's. Not sure whether I'll walk over or not. The deadline knitting is down to the DNA scarves which require actual attention to knitting, charts and not dragging them on the ground but I need the exercise and those hills are good for the journey back to me.