Thirty-something

Well, well. Today's my birthday. I'm thirty-someting. (Remember that show?)

I'm closer to 40 than 30, I might add.

Glad to see another year, a fresh start, an approaching baseball season.

Unlike Sinatra's familiar song, this wasn't a very good year. I've always been honest with you, so I'll tell you now -- my wife and I are getting divorced.

I hold no anger, no resentment, no regrets. We discovered we are two different people. Different interests. Different norms and values. Different destinations. And that's all I have to say about that (with apologies to Forrest Gump).

My grandmother died last July. I miss her every day.

And I told you yesterday about the migraines. No need to say more.

I normally have a birthday ritual. I watch the "Magnum, p.i." episodes "Laura" and "Limbo." I watch the John Wayne version of "True Grit." I eat. I sleep. I listen to music.

This year my birthday falls on deadline day, so I have to work. It's OK. I like my job.

You know, it's funny. I still feel like I'm about 19 or 20. That's my mind-set, although my body occasionally reminds me otherwise. Like Magnum once said, "It's not that we're old, we're just not young anymore."

Life is funny. Fastballs, curveballs, sliders, change-ups. You can play it safe. You can swing for the fence. You've often got a short amount of time to decide.

Well, here's to you. Cheers! May we both live to be 100, and may the last voice you hear be mine.