One’s own birthday is embarrassing. Another year closer to the grave, but even so people insist on making a fuss about the anniversary.
I was 61 yesterday, and for some years have remembered that my next door neighbour’s birthday is September 7. She would have turned 80 today, but sadly she died earlier this year.
Poor Jean. She celebrated the God given pleasures of each day of her life – the sunshine, the rainfall. I reprint my obituary to this sweet lady below. I picture her on the left. Vintage 1966. A good year.