December 5, 2024: "Villanelle," Daughter's Birthday, Card from a Friend

It was my daughter's 24th birthday today.  

Even after typing that sentence, I still can't believe it's true.  It seems like just yesterday that I was handed this screaming little pink thing, wrapped in a blanket.  Now, that squirming bundle will be heading off to medical school in August.

Billy Collins writes a villanelle that makes me smile . . . 

Villanelle

by: Billy Collins

This first line will not go away,
though the middle ones will disappear,
and the third, like the first, is bound to get more play.

Examples of the type are written every day,
and whether uplifting or drear,
that first line just won’t go away.

It seems some lines have the right of way.
It’s their job to reappear,
for example, the third, designed to get more play.

Whether you squawk like an African Grey
or sing sweetly to the inner ear,
the line you wrote first will just not go away.

You may compose all night and day
under a bare lightbulb or a crystal chandelier,
but line number three must get more play.

How can a poet hope to go wildly astray
or sing out like a romantic gondolier
when the first line will not go away,
and the third always has the final say?

Right now, I cherish things that lighten my mood.  This poems did that.  So did having a birthday dinner with my daughter tonight, seeing the caring young woman she's become.  (She also loves her filet mignon.)  I'd like to take credit for how smart and compassionate she is, but I can't.  My daughter has always had a strong sense of herself from a very young age.

The other things that made me smile tonight was a gift from a close, close friend.  She stopped by my office today and left it on my table.  It was a beautiful card with a medicine man on the front, a handwritten message inside, and a beautiful heart-shaped ornament.  My friend knows of my recent struggles, and she was simply reaching out to check on me.  

I'm am such a blessed person.  I'm surrounded by people I care about and who care about me.  That is something I hold onto tonight.  My daughter reminds me that I did something very, very right in my life, and the card/gift from my friend reminds me that I am very, very loved.

Saint Marty can't ask for much more than that.