Riders Birthday Quotes

It is a curious thing that at my age — fifty-five last birthday — I should find myself taking up a pen to try to write a history. I wonder what sort of a history it will be when I have finished it, if ever I come to the end of the trip! I have done a good many things in my life, which seems a long one to me, owing to my having begun work so young, perhaps. At an age when other boys are at school I was earning my living as a trader in the old Colony. I have been trading, hunting, fighting, or mining ever since. And yet it is only eight months ago that I made my pile. It is a big pile now that I have got it — I don't yet know how big — but I do not think I would go through the last fifteen or sixteen months again for it; no, not if I knew that I should come out safe at the end, pile and all. But then I am a timid man, and dislike violence; moreover, I am almost sick of adventure. I wonder why I am going to write this book: it is not in my line. I am not a literary man, though very devoted to the Old Testament and also to the "Ingoldsby Legends." Let me try to set down my reasons, just to see if I have any.

You say it's this young woman's birthday?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound too eager. "Yes." Mrs. Brigham practically sobbed into her lace hanky. Rider hid his smile at her histrionics behind a mask of concern. "Well, we can't disappoint the girl on her birthday, now can we, ma'am?" "You changed your mind then?" she gushed happily. Rider offered his most charming smile, an attribute that had never failed to win a woman yet. "I'd be honored to take you and Miss Vaughn to the social." "Oh,thank you, Mr. Sinclair. I knew you were a true gentleman. Willow is such a dear young woman.So sweet and feminine." Rider choked on his coffee.

2/ KICK YOUR OWN ASS, GENTLY. I’ve been trying to set a few modest goals, both daily and weekly. In the course of a day, it’s good to get some stupid things accomplished, and off your “list.” I guess because it leaves you feeling that you and the “rest of the world” still have something to do with each other! Like today, for example, I can think back on sending a fax to my brother on his birthday, leaving a phone message for Brutus at his “hotel” on his birthday, phoning my Dad on his birthday (yep, all on the same day), then driving to Morin Heights to the ATM machine, to St. Sauveur for grocery shopping, and planning all that so I’d still have enough daylight left to go snowshoeing in the woods. And then I could drink. Not a high-pressure day, and hardly earth-shaking activities, but I laid them out for myself and did them (even though tempted to “not bother” with each of them at one point or another). I gave myself a gentle kick in the ass when necessary, or cursed myself out for a lazy fool, and because of all that, I consider today a satisfactory day. Everything that needed to be done got done. And by “needs” I certainly include taking my little baby soul out for a ride. And drinking. And there are little side benefits from such activities, like when the cashier in the grocery store wished me a genuinely-pleasant “Bonjour,” and I forced myself to look at her and return the greeting. The world still seems unreal to me, but I try not to purposely avoid contact with pleasant strangers. It wouldn’t be polite! Another “little goal” for me right now is spending an hour or two at the desk every morning, writing a letter or a fax to someone like you, or Brutus, or Danny, who I want to reach out to, or conversely, to someone I’ve been out of touch with for a long while, maybe for a year-and-a-half or two years. These are friends that I’ve decided I still value, and that I want as part of my “new life,” whatever it may be. It doesn’t really matter what, but just so you can say that you changed something in the course of your day: a neglected friend is no longer neglected; an errand that ought to be dealt with has been dealt with.

It’s weird when you think about, isn’t it? What if the Rider had a more positive orientation? Imagine a world in which you experienced a rush of gratitude every single time you flipped a light switch and the room lit up. Imagine a world in which after a husband forgot his wife’s birthday, she gave him a big kiss and said, “For thirteen of the last fourteen years you remembered my birthday! That’s wonderful!” This is not our world. But in times of change, it needs to be. Our Rider has a problem focus when he needs a solution focus.

back to the lodge. “He’s a bruising rider—we wouldn’t

Sammy started surfing big waves with Eddie and hanging out at the graveyard on occasion. “Over time I became friendly with the family and eventually ended up spending a lot of time with them,” Lee says. “I admired that family for their cohesiveness. And I got to know the father really well, and he became a personal friend of mine. He was easy to talk to, and he had a lot of aloha. The father was a really charismatic man. He wasn’t educated in the book sense but he was a charismatic individual, and he appealed to people from all walks of life, people from this country and other countries as well. You either loved the guy or you hated him. He was very blunt but very generous. His generosity knew no bounds if he liked you.” Pops welcomed Sammy into his family like a son because he was like an older brother to Eddie and the boys, taking them to the beach and looking out for them. Pops was also grateful to Sammy for introducing his sons to famous surfers like Fred Van Dyke and Peter Cole, who had taught Sammy (and his fellow surfers) at Punahou School. Like John Kelly, these men were champion big-wave riders and gods in Eddie’s eyes. For Sammy’s 25th birthday, Pops threw a party for him and invited

again.” He takes a huge bite. Guess his appetite is still the same, which is oddly comforting. “You’re welcome, by the way, for the mending. Consider it a twenty-first-birthday present.” “Thank you.” That’s right. I slept right through my birthday. And I’m sure my lying in bed on the brink of death was more than enough drama for everyone in this castle, house, whatever it’s called. Xaden’s cousin, Bodhi, strides into the kitchen, dressed in uniform, his arm in a sling and his cloud of black curls freshly trimmed. “Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh,” Bodhi says, handing a folded missive to Brennan. “This just came in from Basgiath. The rider will be here until tonight if you want to reply.” He offers me a smile, and I’m struck again at how closely he resembles a softer version of Xaden. With a nod to my brother, he turns and leaves. Basgiath? Another rider here? How many are there? Exactly how big is this revolution? Questions fire off in my head faster than I can find my tongue. “Wait. You’re a lieutenant colonel? And who is Aisereigh?” I ask. Yeah, because that is the most important inquiry to make. “I had to change my last name for obvious reasons.” He glances at me and unfolds the missive, breaking a blue wax seal. “And