I really like Billy Collin's poem On Turning Ten. Funny and poignant, it also lampoons the angst so many of us feel about growing older.
For such a short poem, it has a lot of great lines, but one that struck me only after re-reading several times is I can lie on my bed and remember every digit. Once when I couldn't sleep I did lay on my bed and try to recollect one thing from each year of my life. I think I fell asleep in my twenties.
With the holidays coming and Christmas music piped in pretty much everywhere I go, my thoughts naturally turn to scary ghost stories and tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago (and those not so long ago, too).
So, as kind of a mash up of Collin's poem, that carol of counting, and Dickens' famous tale, I present to you, On Turning Fifty: Twelve Days of Christmas Past.
Tune in tomorrow for day one.
For such a short poem, it has a lot of great lines, but one that struck me only after re-reading several times is I can lie on my bed and remember every digit. Once when I couldn't sleep I did lay on my bed and try to recollect one thing from each year of my life. I think I fell asleep in my twenties.
With the holidays coming and Christmas music piped in pretty much everywhere I go, my thoughts naturally turn to scary ghost stories and tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago (and those not so long ago, too).
So, as kind of a mash up of Collin's poem, that carol of counting, and Dickens' famous tale, I present to you, On Turning Fifty: Twelve Days of Christmas Past.
Tune in tomorrow for day one.
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