I've lost track of who's responsible, but someone tweeted, "Wanna feel old? Kurt Cobain died 17 yrs ago."
Actually, if I ever want to feel old, I'll just take one of my daughters for a ride in the car. The conversation usually goes like this: "Hey, Dad: remember that time you took me to the store, and I did this, and you said that, and I said this? Remember that?"
You lost me at "store," sweetie.
Cobain I remember, of course. The anniversary of his suicide is something I take note of as well -- because he shot himself just a few days before I got married. Now, whenever someone makes a comment like the one that kicked off this post, I think, "That's right! Book the restaurant, buy the flowers, etc." Nasty, perhaps, but true.
Babies were born on March 8, 2011 and on September 11, 2001, for that matter -- any day of infamy you care to name. So it goes. The dire and the delightful coexist, and seemingly require us to remember.
I just want to make sure I don't neglect delight.
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