Thirty-six is one of those strange non-ages, far enough from 30 and 40 to be not closely associated with either. It is three times twelve, which places me 24 years past teenagehood. It’s also half way to 72, which, statistically, places me half way through life.
For as long as I can remember (and I realize that I will sound like an idiot here), I have liked the number 36. I remember in grade 4, learning the “times tables,” feeling a kinship with the number because it was 6x6, 3x12, and 4x9 and all at the same time. So that bodes well for the year ahead.
When my father was 36, it was 1973, and PEI was the “place to be in ‘73.” Not a bad sign either.