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I had the great pleasure this past weekend of turning forty. In our youth centric world you would think this to be an odd statement. But then I am over the hill by your myspace, Mtv media driven society.   I remember when I turned 30 people telling me it was the new 20. The same people are now telling me that  40 is the new 20. Personally 40 is 40 and I love it.

What made turning 40 so memorable was the the time, love and great pains that my amazing wife, family and friends took to make it so unforgettable. I was content to have a quiet time of it and not make a big deal out of the day. I’m not really a big fan of birthdays, but not for the aging reasons most people seem to have.

I was prepared to do laundry, sand the dresser for the babies room and take care of some things around the house. This was fine as my wife had, just the day before already suprised me with an old school shave and hair cut at the Barbers lounge in Sf.  She went to drop me off and and a few of my friends were their waiting with a box -o- cup  wicked good cup cakes and beers in hand.  Afterward we had  drinks in the Mission, my old stomping grounds and had amazing tapas at Esperpento. I had forgotten how good their food is! All of this was also after having brunch with my dear friends Carolyn & John and their adorable two year old flirt of a daughter Maeve.

Now you add this perfect day, to the fact that my wife had already knit me the most amazing hat and had surprised me on all counts, i needed nothing else. Well she and her co-conspirators were not quite finished.

On the day of my birthday I had breakfast with my wife and sister at the Log Cabin in Albany. The plan was to go grocery shopping, look at a house, take care of the list of aforementioned chores and have a quiet relaxing day.  There was also the plan of having a “single drink” at my favorite place The Forbidden Island. Well My wifey, Leslie, invites my sister for come by the house later on in the day which surprised me, but set off no flags. Ok we’ll have a drink I’ll make dinner and still have a quiet evening. Nope

After a series of events designed to throw me off a trail i didn’t know existed, we finally arrived at the Tiki bar.  As I left the well lit sunny street to the the dimly lit world of Tiki I was greeted with a deafening  “surprise”  before my eyes had even adjusted.  I had been gotten once again, two days in a row on a scale I would not have imagined possible.

It took me about forty minutes to get through the initial hellos to everyone there. It meant a lot that everyone had not only gone to such lengths to suprise me, but they had all come out to celebrate the day with me.  Here I was surrounded by great friends at my favorite Tiki  bar with everyone drinking from peronalized “skillbilly” tiki mugs.  Even my birthday cake, made by Sugarcoatit Studio, was totally tiki! I was in Tiki Heaven.

I have often heard people use the phrase “the measure of a man” refering to the status of their possesion and social status in society.  I have come to realize that the true measure of a man is his friends and family. It may have taken me forty years to realize it, but I am truely blessed with the best of both.

It’s been three weeks since we found out that our baby is a girl. Yesterday we found out that she is still a girl. We couldn’t be happier as, well that is what we ordered. We have a few pics including one of those new fangled creepy 3d ones. It turns out that our little girl like to sleep with her feet in her face.

As most that know me know, I belong to a vintage car club. But it is more than just a club, or a group of friends. It is a family.  And like with any family you will have your ups and downs, but in the end you hope that all things can be overcome. Not all things can. Not even when bound by blood.

Recently my band of usually merry brothers have experienced a great tearing in the fabric of our brotherhood. The sad thing is that we may never truly know what the real causes were on either side. I do not believe that blame lays only on one side. It rarely does.  A large number of brothers have left to forge their own path and we wish them all the best. For those that are near them, I’m sure that we will support them as we can and will not drag them through the mud. I’m sure that they will do the same.

I do not agree with how they left. I do not agree with how it was handled or not handled by everyone involved. It has happened and we must all move on. If one thing does come from this, it is that their exodus has both reinforced and reminded those of us who remain that the point of this all is the common interest in old steel and the brotherhood forged by it.

For some the loss will not be felt as much as the distance between them is small and the is still the chance to hang out with them. For other the same can not be said.  In the end I hope that their new family and ours will both be stronger and continue with the traditions that started us all.

A few of my friends already know the good news, but for those that have not yet heard,

“I’m going to be a daddy!!”

The hardest part has been in keeping it a secret from my family. It’s the whole tradition of not saying anything until after the first trimester, when you know that everything is ok and that the munchkin has decided they like you and will stick around. Also I guess it’s not to jinx it for the very same reason. As I write this most of my wifes family knows that “we” are expecting.

In my family my sister is the only one to know. She was the first person I told and swore to secrecy. She has done an amazing job in keeping it. Now that my in laws know, I so want to tell my mother. Her birthday is in a week and I can think of no better time, or way to tell her than to call and wish “Grandma a Happy Birthday”. I usually have no trouble in keeping a secret and usually get some perverse pleasure in doing so, but is so very difficult not to call and let her know. One more week.

People have a tendency to collect things over their lifetimes that hold some significance to them; a rolled out copper penny from pier 39, high school year books, photos from when they were still kids. Every item taking them back to a specific point in time in their lives, a memory of someone whom they loved or a time which they wish they could return to.

Like most people I have my share of items which i hold on to. Some of my dearest are those items that used to belong to my father. Over the years most have been stolen by or have “disappeared” in the care of friends and family. Mostly family though, as I look back. The few items that do remain are carefully tucked away from the careful hands of others.

The most prized of these items are three letters that my father sent to my mother while in Vietnam. What makes these letters different is that they are voice recordings on 1/4″ reel to reel tape. I can’t tell you the number of times I listened to those recording as a child. These letters had nothing to do with me. They were meant for my mother and yet the fact that I can go back and still hear my fathers voice is beyond words.

It’s been years since anyone has heard these recordings. Probably more than twenty. One of them broke and several defective reel to reel players has prevented them from being heard. Well it seems that this digital age will bring an end to this. I have found a place that will repair and transfer the recording to digital format. I’m having them do the transfer and make enough copies to send to my family for them to listen to as well.

After all this time his voice will be heard again. I just wish he were here to hear mine.