My sister Susan and I will celebrate our collective birthdays in just two weeks. I will turn 65 (and be eligible for medicare, no less) on January 19th, and my sister will celebrate her birthday the day before, on January 18th. I won't say how old Susan is, except to say she was 11 years old when I was born. My parents (Nelson and Mary) and Susan celebrated her birthday at Art Houle's Rosewood Inn - a wonderful restaurant that resembled a log cabin - back in 1953 and then headed to St. Bernard's Hospital, where I was born early the next morning. The photograph on the left shows Susan and me not too long after that event. My sister was hoping for a baby sister and was bitterly disappointed, and so I am looking pretty apprehensive in the photo, hoping she wasn't going to take me somewhere where there were no witnesses present. She did forgive me for being born when I was 60 or so. She never has forgiven me for taking her bedroom away from her when she went off to Knox College. We are posing in the back yard of our house in the Brainerd neighborhood, on the South Side of Chicago, before the enclosed back porch was built, which is where Susan wound up sleeping when she came back from college. Those are the breaks, Susan.
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