November 10 for me is about two things. It is the birthday of the Marine Corps, a celebration not to be missed. So tomorrow morning I’ll wake up, drag my body out of bed at 0545 and hit the road for a run. I’ll sing the Marines Hymn, hum some jodies to myself and think about those who serve. Tomorrow in Seattle it will be raining, which is a bonus—rain on a run is like a remembrance of baptism by fire (pardon the metaphor mix.) It’s also my departed Dad’s birthday, so at the end of the day I’ll gather with my family, make a martini (dirty), raise the glass and toast my pop, who for some reason chose the Army over the Marines, and who always drank his martinis as gibsons (blech). No cake cut, no reading of the birthday message, but I’ll take my traditions the way the world delivers them to me, and find solace in the rain in the morning and the olive at night.