This past Saturday was the official end of the Holiday Season, culminating with the grand finale of all holidays — my birthday. Several well-wishers inquired as to how many years I have graced this Earth, and my honest answer had to be, “I am older than dirt.”

Understandably, a statement like that begs for an explanation. My very good friend, Esquire, is my elder. For many years, I have enjoyed the fact that he is older than me. He was born in May and I was born the following January. Therefore, for eight months out of every year, Esquire is a part of antiquity and can justifiably be described as, “older than dirt.” Unfortunately, from January until May we are the same age and I, too, become a fossilized relic from the ancient past.

Over the years, I have found great joy in calling him on his birthday, as early as possible (and much earlier than the rules of politeness allow), not to wish him a Happy Birthday, but to let him know how absolutely young and spry I suddenly feel. I take great delight in knowing that he will never be younger than me.

I have mentioned several times, in this space, just how amazing the City of Niles (often referred to as the Center of the Universe) truly is. This past weekend, the good folks of Niles threw me one whopper of a birthday party. There was an ice cream stand made out of a block of ice. There were ice carvings lining both sides of Main Street from the top of the hill at Fifth Street all the way down to River Front Park. Kids were sliding down the hill where Majerek’s once stood, playing ping pong on an ice table, or getting their pictures taken while sitting on a throne of ice. There was even a birthday banner stretched across Main Street — but, I think there might have been a foul up with the sign maker because the banner read something about the Hunter Ice Festival.

Esquire, Firewalker, that Beautiful Woman in My Life, and my grandson joined me in a leisurely stroll up and down the hill. A “bazillion” people were on hand to participate in my birthday celebration. I know this is an accurate count because my grandson told me so. Of course, if you ask him how old I am, he will tell you, “A million.”

Saturday was a beautiful day for a birthday party. It was an amazing January day with temperatures in the 40s. My birthday ice carvings weren’t as excited about the warmth as I was, but none of the “bazillion” people wandering the streets of Niles seemed to care.

Folks were enjoying cups of hot chocolate from the Paris Ice Cream Shop, filling bags with candy from Veni’s, warming themselves from the inside with soup from the Olfactory Hue Bistro, or savoring the fare at the Nugget and Massimo’s. At the end of the day, our group joined the crowd at Pete’s Patio for their special Prime Rib or Sicilian Pork Chops — it was my birthday and this “diet thing” could take another day off. Have you ever had their pork chops? That is some good eatin’.

Now, I have mentioned before about the ineptitude of the criminal class in our wonderful city. You may recall that, in this same space, I previously shared my low opinion of the caliber of thieves lurking on our streets, when someone broke into my pickup and stole my vehicle registration and insurance certificate — but refused to steal the power tools in the back.

During the course of our wanderings up and down the hill, our entourage made it to the pavilion in the park, just to see what birthday sculptures awaited there. That’s when I noticed it. What I saw on Saturday confirmed my worst suspicions. We have some really stupid thieves.

Have you seen the Main Street Bridge over the St. Joe River? Someone tried to steal the bridge! Obviously, someone must have come along and scared them away, because they left a good portion of the thing — but, that poor bridge will never be the same.

Regardless of idiot thieves and missing bridges, I want to thank the good folks of Niles for throwing one of the best birthday parties any guy could ever hope for. I’ll bet Esquire doesn’t get that good of a party when May rolls around.

 

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.