It was what could be called a small birthday party, but it meant more to me than ever. In fact, all birthdays mean more to me than they ever have.
Sixty years ago on November 17th, a pink-skinned, eight and a half pound infant saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I arrived in this world kicking and crying at St John's Hospital in Santa Monica. Been kicking and questioning things ever since.
My sweetie, Deborah, planned a great party with my sister Margo, Deb's friend Carla and my two other buddies, Mark and Jim (whom I have known for 35 years).
This party took place at the Marriott Newport Coast Villas. It's got everything, including an Italian marble fountain topped by King Neptune and a herd of seahorses.
We had a great cake to look at (and munch on) and a healthy salad. Our birthday team barbequed gourmet sausages and New York sirloin. Yum!
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