10:55 AM. October 29th. Annually.
"Well, I know where I was X# years ago at this time."
The telephone call that established the basis for the Greenwich Median would emanate from Frodo's Mother wherever she might be at precisely the same time every year. Changing time zones east-to-west eventually altered her precision for Frodo's physical location, but the thought never changed, during all those years. Now it seems so long ago.
Frodo still receives digital and audio transmissions from many kind souls marking his relationships on his birthday, and it is difficult, to say the least, to record absences when so many remain ever present. This year includes many newbies, and Frodo is sure that additions will continue at a frenetic pace throughout the year to come. It is the telephone however, which rings not, that mobilizes his neurons and causes him to reach for a receiver that summons no Hobbit. Perhaps the imagination is what distinguishes the difference between the celebrations of youth, and the lamentations of age. If that be so, the Hobbit will talk with Mom for a few minutes, then gird himself for life's daily challenges. The Ring lives on.