I can always tell when it's been too long between entries here in blogsville, I start getting inquiries from avid readers (thanks Mom) asking "are you ok? - did the Zetas get you, have you fallen prey to some infernal strain of the Aztec two step, etc?"

So, taking a moment this special day I'll offer up the following (before heading for the front gate to swab on a coat or two of Jacaranda purple and gloss black - hey, it's MX, I don't make the rules, I just try to follow) and no, we don't have Zetas here and the food is just fine, no problema, it's just a busy time of the year.

Adventures are normally things to come, but they can also be in your rear view mirror, so let's crank up the WayBack Machine and slide back to Saint Patrick's Day 1965 when another "great adventure" began. Actually it was a seminal moment marking the day my lovely daughter was born. But of course there was all the leadup to that day, as this was the first grand baby it was a biggie deal. You see, my Mom is the oldest of her generation in the Arnold clan, I am the oldest of mine, my daughter the oldest of hers, her son the oldest of his and now his new daughter (that would make me a great grand father - gee thanks, I needed that?) and so it goes for 5 generations, from 95 years to about 10 months but I'm jumping ahead.

We lived in California having moved there in 1963, first to a little efficiency apt with a Murphy bed that folded out of the wall for $60 a month and that was an adventure all it's own as it was in Studio City just down the street from 4 Star Studios. After a time we moved to the apartment house next door that had a bedroom and eventually when the new arrival was on it's way we moved to Canoga Park at the west end of the San Fernando Valley closer to my work and ultimately to a 2 bedroom.

We had sold my '55 Chev convertible to get enough money to move to CA from CO and drove her '53 Mercury, inherited from her parents. It was big and ugly, but was bullet proof and is probably still running to this day. So, being closer to work (which was up on Santa Suzana mountain) was a plus. However, this also took us further away from the hospital in Burbank.

There are many "amusing?" stories about the quirks of a soon-to-be mother; like the time I suddenly had this huge craving for potato chips and happened to mention it one day at supper and she said "oh, probably because the Dr. put me on a salt free diet last month and I've not been putting salt in anything". Of course my body was going nutso needing salt and figured out that craving potato chips was the easy way to survive.

We had developed another habit, being poor we didn't do much except go for a ride now and then and watch TV on our black & white set. We got into the habit of watching Roller Derby and it was on from 8-10PM (as I recall) and so it was on the evening of the 16th. We were watching it and then went to bed, soon after she hollered "OUCH" - which did get my attention. I asked if she was ok and she said it was one of the long awaited contraction pains. I said ok and rolled back over to go to sleep - I mean, there's not much for a guy to do at that point is there?

A few minutes later another "OUCH" and now I began to take notice it hadn't been that long. I said "another?" - and she said "yes, they started earlier this evening while we were watching Roller Derby, but I didn't want to disturb our evening". Now I was really wide awake and after the next one I collected her up and we headed out across the San Fernando Valley toward Burbank in our old brown bomber, thin tires and all.

By this time it was probably 11pm and the admitting nurse was calmly taking my anxious information and when we got to the point where she asked "and how far apart are the contractions?" - I said "1 minute" - she suddenly dropped the paper work and hustled us off to the next phase of the process. It wasn't too long before they took her on to delivery and I went to crash in the waiting lounge with a few other nervously pacing guys. At some point Saint Patrick's day 1965 arrived and not long after our daughter.

By the time she was born I had fallen asleep and the nurse woke me up to tell me I was now permanently responsible for a new daughter. In those days we didn't know what you were going to get so you had to wait and wonder, do I get a daughter who I have to protect from the world, or a son who I have to protect the world from?

After the usual introduction I headed home and to work after a few hours of sleep to hand out cigars, a proud father.

Later that year we moved to Louisiana on the Saturn V space project where a year later her brother was born in Slidell, I'm not sure anyone has had the courage to tell him that yet?

Sadly at an early age our family split up and they returned to California while I remained in OH/CO etc. In the middle part of my daughters life we didn't agree on some things, but 5 years ago we rejoined and for the first time I met my wonderful grandkids with whom I need to spend more time, they grow so quickly.

I've spent many Saint Patrick's days in many places, but none were ever as exciting (or rewarding) as the one in 1965, 45 years ago, only yesterday, the beginning of one of my life's great adventures.