Thirty-three years ago today, the world awoke to the news that Elvis had died. Not me, I already knew. I had been up most of the night because of the imminent birth of my youngest son John, and I was not a happy camper, not because of Elvis but because I hate my sleep to be interrupted! But such a sweet joy and I quickly overcame my lack of sleep. So with much razzle-dazzle . . . Happy Birthday John!