Thirty-seven, the age I turned today, seems like the most unremarkable of ages -- stranded out there between landmark numbers like thirty-five or forty, with nothing particular to say for itself. But my mother died when she was thirty-seven -- just a touch less than twenty-five years ago. So, for me, thirty-seven has always been an age mixed with awe, fear and wonder -- like a lamppost or beacon that I was slowly approaching in my own life.