This is the way to do it: on vacation in another country that takes your mind off the reality of those numbers, six, zero. The reality will sneak in eventually, but Andalucía postpones the shock.
And yet... waking to the news that James Gandolfini has died at 51 has a way of rubbing reality in your face.
Just this once, I want to flip tradition over, and, instead of receiving the greetings of others, I want to wish everyone I know a special day. If at some point during the day you think of me on my 60th birthday, have some special fun in my memory, and when we next get together, tell me about your fun. Too often, we wait to tell those special stories until one of us dies and we pass along the tales at the wake. That's too late. I want to hear your stories, and I can't do that if you wait until I am no longer here.