danajohnhill.org

…to my favorite person.

Christmas 2008 has come and gone, and I am back home in Gainesville after three days and more than 500 miles on the highway.  On the Turnpike this afternoon, an accident on the southbound lanes caused a tremendous backup in the northbound lanes, and more than five miles (I counted) of bumper-to-bumper traffic for the southbound travelers.

Christmas Eve was spent in St. Petersburg at Grandma’s house.  She was at church when I arrived, but had made dinner and left it on the counter.  Plus, there were brownies.  When she got home we watched It’s a Wonderful Life.  On Christmas Day we went over to Julie’s.  It was a great time.  I gave Miriam some aluminum plates for her skates.  I gave my dad a book of selected essays of Samuel Johnson, a book which has changed my life.  Grandma gave me a book of photos of me as a child.  Julie gave me a neat personalized stone for the garden.  Miriam gave me the DVD of La fanciulla del West I’ve wanted for a long time with Sherrill Milnes as Jack Rance, and the Penguin Classics edition of Dumas’ Count of Monte Christo I’ve been itching to read.

My Uncle Tom (file photo) left me a message the other night.  In it he said that he was out somewhere where Bobby Brown’s “My Prerogative” was being played.  He said he remembered how significant that song was to me, and brought up something I hadn’t thought of really to this degree, namely that that song actually changed my life.  I guess that’s true.  Had that song not sucked so bad I would probably have continued listening to popular radio in 1988 rather than explore the broad spectrum of earlier, better rock music.  So, in a way, Bobby Brown did me a favor.  But in another, more accurate way he single-handedly destroyed civilization.

The ceaseless passage of time is unrelenting and often disorienting.  But sometimes the passing years bring a kind of gradual, organic change that is only shocking when viewed telescopically. 

Today is my sister’s birthday.  I vividly remember many of her childhood birthdays, like one in 1984 when I received a 45RPM record of Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl”.  (It was customary in my family for the non-birthday sibling to be given some small gift to avoid feeling left out.)  I also distinctly recall her 16th birthday, which almost feels like it was yesterday to me, where I think my mom’s enthusiasm exceeded my sister’s.  I know she really, really wanted a car.

So, thinking back this way, where even a quarter of a century can pass in the blink of an eye, the changes wrought by time seem overwhelming.  But if you had asked me at my sister’s tenth birthday party if I thought she’d be a married mother of two in her mid-30s, I’d probably have said I did. 

Happy birthday, Heather.