Making Soup With the First Baby Boomer

I like to make soup with the tired vegetables from my refrigerator’s vegetable drawers. You know: the limp carrots, the saggy celery. Sometimes I think that those mature vegetables, rescued from the fridge, have more flavor — just like aged people. We’ve been around, soaking up flavor. Just like me.

I’m possibly the first Baby Boomer. Sure, there were 3 million other Boomers born in my birth year of 1946. And a lot of us followed. By 1964 (the end of the generation) we Baby Boomers were 76 million strong.

Though victory in Europe came first, victory over Japan — which ended the war — was announced on August 14, 1945 and declared official on August 15^th. VJ Day! Finally, the long terrible war was over.

Am I the first?

Born at the end of May 1946, I’ve counted on my fingers, and my birth came nine months after VJ Day of August 15^th. So I could be the first.

I would ask my parents about the timing of my conception but they’ve passed on. So I must make the claim without any supporting documentation. I envision my conception as happening during a night of grateful and joyful celebration. War’s end. Finally. Our soldiers would come home. Let life start again. The end of shortages, scarcity. The end of rationing. I could have been butter.

Peace had come. A hopeful time. Is that why I’m such a pacifist? Maybe so. I do know that I hate war, violence, destructive explosions and hatred of all kinds. I cover my eyes during violent scenes in movies.

I just want a “Peaceable Kingdom” to reign over our fragile planet. Is that too much to ask? It appears so. But there remains love and kindness that pops up unexpectedly. I subscribe to all the “good news” posts and stories I can find. These reflections of our love for one another and other living beings lift my spirit and support my sometimes-flagging optimism.

With a new president soon to take office, I wonder what tomorrow brings? The Chinese have a curse, I hear, that goes something like this: “May you live in interesting times.” Whatever our new administration proposes, I suspect, will be ‘interesting.’ How interesting? We wait to see.

Ever hopeful, I wish for positive news, actions, and kindness. But if it doesn’t come, then maybe we can be ever more kind to one another. We’re going to need one another.

There’s a Hopi Indian prophecy we can keep in mind: “When Grandmothers speak, the Earth will be healed.” We may be entering a time when we who have soaked up more flavor need to speak.

Let’s begin. Let’s talk to one another.

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I hope you’re finding joy one meatball at a time! Let me hear your comments.