Once again, I come upon that arbitrary marker of self discovery and decay which rewards one in brightly colored boxes filled with underwear and gift certificates, as well as a higher societal tolerance for cake consumption. I'd love to offer up some profound insight, pose the question that's worthy of the answer, but as far as Life, the Universe, and Everything goes... I got nothing. What I do have is a baked potato buffet to look forward to and a hunk of banana bread that'll soon be skewered by flaming pillars of wax.

I like to think that somewhere among my readers and watchers, there's a kinky grandma who just got a tingle at the thought of soon to be abused baked goods. Granted, I like to think a lot of things.

As far as where my life is going, let me tell you about last night. Last night I came to the sudden realization that a chore had been left undone.

You see, I live at the top of a stubby hill that overlooks a lake, which is way out in the countryside, set adrift from civilization and sense. At the bottom of the hill lies that quiet lake and my mother's house, which was built on top of the unmarked grave of the previous residence. The original home had been knocked flat by a tornado some six years ago. Up the hill lies our house, which I share with my youngest sister and nephew. Over the hill, a good ways past our home, sits an emptied trash can, waiting to be ushered down the long, steep drive-way, filled with loose rocks and questionable traction.

The man who married my mother after she divorced my father, and if I was not completely done with fathers would be considered my step-father, had asked me to ask my nephew to bring the trashcan down once the flaming ball of fiery death we call a southern sun had sunk. I asked my nephew, he accepted the quest, and I prepared the basket of trinkets and EXP he would be rewarded upon completion. Then, as so often happens, he let himself get absorbed in various side quests, such as "Watching Golden Girls with My Mother" and "Trying to Complete a Build in Creative Mode Minecraft While My Uncle Shakes His Head and Blathers on About the Moral Superiority of Survival." I mean, seriously, what's the point of a water slide if you aren't ducking zombies and creepers to get it done?

Kids these days.

At any rate, I suddenly remembered that sitting out there, in the dead of a night, was a forlorn and forgotten trashcan, wondering why nobody had thought to pick him up from soccer practice. Now, it's somewhere between nine thirty and ten in the evening, the boy is in bed, and I'm not feeling especially spry myself. Still, it was my responsibility to see it done, and it was my nephew's responsibility to do the doing. I walked into his bedroom, told him to put on his shoes and together we would see the task completed.

After all, if I'm the boss (or in this case, more like middle management) I owe it to my nephew to take my share of the burden.

Together, we left the relative safety of the homestead. With the flashlight in my hand, we stumbled into the creaky, chirpy dark of a rural night. To pass the time, and maybe to take the boy's mind off the smothering quiet, I began to tell my nephew a story. I told him of a night, much like this one, wherein two dudes, one older and one younger, went out for a walk. For safety's sake, the elder carried a flashlight.

"So you mean us, right?" interjected my nephew, full of youthful snark.

"Yes. You're very smart, shut up," I replied in my best Peter Falk. "They walked down a hill, listening to the silent din of nocturnal life. Unseen and wandering about in a constant creep, everything that fears the light came out to bask in the midnight."

"Nocturnal?"

"It means they love the night life; they gots to boogie," I answered. "So the two guys are chatting away, enduring the chill of the evening with the warmth of their company, until they finally arrived at the bottom of the hill."

By this time, we had retrieved the trashcan, gotten it a juice box, tucked it in our imaginary SUV, and set it beside my mother's house. My nephew tried to wrap up the story so we could get back to our own. "And then they went home and everyone got a freezer pop."

"You've had enough sugar for one night," I replied, flipping the flashlight idly in my hand. "And no, I'm afraid not. The pair decided to split up, even though you should never split the party, with the younger running up the hill fast as childhood is spent. The older walked far more slowly, trundling up the hill, using their only light to mark his path so he wouldn't slip down the loose gravel. Every now and then the youth would look to see his elder's light, bouncing this way and that, making its slow way back home."

My nephew is thoroughly hooked at this point, arms around his shoulders and swaying in time to the rhythm of my voice. His eyes never once leaving the light of the electric torch in my right hand.

"The young man gets inside, has a drink, puts on some Golden Girls, and curls up with his mother. An entire episode passes before the youth starts to wonder what's taking his older companion so long." I pointed the flashlight at my nephew in an almost accusing fashion. "Finally, he steps out the door and sees the light from below, about halfway up the hill. Only, it's not bouncing as it had been. It just sort of... lingers."

"U-huh."

"So, being the caring sort, the young man walks back down the hill, skittering on some unsure footing as the rocks beneath his soles slip and slide. Strangely, the quiet of the night seems different somehow, like something is missing, an absence in the very air." I begin to step back from my nephew, slowly and quietly. "Still, undaunted, the young man made his way down and stepped into the elder's light."

"And then what happened?"

Click! Off went the flashlight in my hand, plunging us both into the darkness, our night vision having long since been ruined. Pitch descended and within it came every twisted, corrupted imagination a young boy's mind could summon. They crept about the edges and chittered in deep, black pockets, filled with the unknown.

All of which were immediately dispelled by the rolling, joyous sound of an uncle's laughter and the sudden blind of a rekindled flashlight. My nephew got home, safe and sound, after a few moments spent assaulting his uncle with tiny fists and annoyed cries of, "You jerk! Don't DO that!"

I am either the worlds best uncle or the absolute worst. For some reason, my nephew seems to think I'm the former, so I'll just have to defer to his judgement.

...

For those that bothered to read through this entire ramble, I thank you. For those that send their birthday regards, either today or in the days to come, I thank you too. And for anyone willing to stick with a bun bun through yet another year of purple prose and obscure references, I am truly honored and humbled by your fortitude. I can only hope I make it worth your while in the years to come.