Happy Luckiest Day of the Century, if you happen to agree with the Chinese that eights are, like, serendipitous.
Although I don't feel lucky (soul suckage going on again), I do feel excited about the Olympics. I've always loved the Olympics. It reminds me of when I was a kid and I felt like I could be an Olympian, too.
I thought perhaps I'd be a swimmer. Maybe an ice skater. Maybe a gymnast. I've never been particularly athletic but for some reason I always thought this might be a possibility. Probably because the adults around me always told me I could do whatever I wanted. My grandparents, deluded as they must have been as I dog-paddled from end to end in their swimming pool, used to say I could be a professional swimmer if I wanted to. Swim for my job? Sounded great to me.
My other grandmother used to say I could be a model. I was a skinny, long-legged kid but not particularly good looking (more grandparental delusion there, I'm afraid). But, a modeling gig also sounded pretty sweet to me. Too bad cookies sounded even sweeter!
My parents always knew I would do something with words, as I had my nose in a book almost constantly from a young age.
My sister was more of a mystery, possessing certain talents that didn't come fully to light until she reached high school. She's a talented artist, musician and singer.
I sometimes read about children of movie stars and how they often grow up to be movie stars or singers, or artists of some kind. The thought is that artists beget artists. In which case, I wonder how two corporate work horses produced two artistic minds? Maybe it was all the wine and the fighting and the movies and the art classes and the family outings and the pine cones and the enchiladas. Just maybe.