Friday the Thirteenth again May 13, 1983

 

I would say this is my lucky day, but I know better than to trust to that.

Luck in my case has a tendency to reverse itself all of a sudden, and while I hope for the best of luck – out a desperate need for to attain it – I walk on pins and needles all day, waiting for the clock to strike midnight to breathe deeply again.

I am nervous about the fact that this Friday the Thirteen falls on the day after my birthday.

I have no memory of the blessed event, although I’m told mother and child got through it relatively unscathed.

Nor am I about to spout details of my luck or ill luck, since it is a mixed bag.

I sit here with my dog, Spud, whining outside my door for a walk, a necessary evil, now a habit for both of us. We take these walks for granted, missing as few as humanly possible, luck being less important than consistency.

Sometimes, when something falls out of the usual pattern, we call it luck (good or bad).

Sometimes, we claim someone’s life is ill-fated or charmed, all based on the pattern his life takes.

Some people equate too much to luck, losing their ability to control their own lives, and keep inventing things by which they might predict what might transpire.

But I see life as a series of interconnected events, much like the fictional concept of cause and effect.

We cause what happens to us, like it or not.

And to this end, we can establish the patterns of our lives, or as some say, make our own luck, leaving Friday the Thirteen like a toothless wolf, just another day to be worked through, enjoyed (if possible) reckoned with, and lived.

But tell all this to that other part of my brain that wakes me up with the anticipation of impending doom.

I’m certainly not going to walk under any ladders today, and if possible, keep a black cat from crossing my path.


Menu for 2013


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