There. That did it. I'm forty years old, and the sun still came out this morning. I just think about it this way: If there were fifteen months in a year, I'd only be thirty-two.
Carmel was great, as it always is. We stayed at the Mission Ranch Inn, which is owned by Clint Eastwood. As the name suggests, it is located by the old Spanish mission, with a great view of the mountains, the mouth of the Carmel River, and the ocean.
We've stayed there a couple of times, but Tuesday night was the first time we'd actually seen Clint. While we were eating dinner he came by the restaurant, and stopped to talk to a couple who were eating a couple of tables away.
I exchanged a quick nod and a smile with Mr. Eastwood, but I think he realized I wanted to keep my birthday a low-key affair because he didn't come over to out table to embarrass me by singing "Happy Birthday" in front of the other guests.
Spending a couple of days down in the Monterey/Carmel area is always rejuvenating, and always makes me realize how damn lucky I am that we are have the proximity to be able to visit here a couple of times each year.
Life is good and, statistically speaking, I'm only halfway through it. Here's to the next half.