Centenary

One hundred years ago today, my grandmother had her sixth and seventh children, twin boys: Seymour and Morley (hey, it was Canada in 1913, and those were the in-names).  Had my father not died two years ago, this would have been his one hundredth birthday, and in his own benign, competitive way, I think he rather liked the notion of making it to a century.  That's Dad on the right, my grandmother Annie in the middle, and Morley on the left.

Today is Morley's birthday.  My cousins Corey and Jeff and Steve will be with him for dinner, so there will be celebrating.  I'm going to call and add my voice.  Because 100 years is kind of a big deal.

Dad was an artist and designer; Morley was a stockbroker.  Dad, an East Coaster, Morley a transplanted Los Angeleño. Both could be witty (although their styles of humor were different), and both had a sharp tongue on occasion.  And though my father never said so, I suspect there was a certain amount of friction between them growing up--two out of eight kids, two of the three adored boys, there had to be some jockeying for favor with my very loving, but rather thinly spread Grannie.  It says something that some years Dad forgot Morley's birthday.... But in later years they became, not close, but closer, and I'm glad for that.

Happy birthday, Dad.  Happy birthday, Morley.  Love you both.