March 4th
Today is Bobby’s birthday. And this got me thinking about birthdays.
I love birthdays that aren’t mine. Before I go further on that thought, let me assure you I’m delighted to continue having birthdays despite the rapidly increasing number attached to each.
I love birthdays that aren’t mine because they offer me the opportunity to celebrate someone I love and to connect with dear friends I may have been remiss in contacting. I enjoy the connection and the opportunity to say Happy Birthday and I love you.
A few days ago was my niece’s 60th birthday. We spoke on the phone for more than an hour, something we had not done in a long time. I learned things about her life that I never knew, and she gifted me with memories of the role I played in her life growing up. I realized I’ve missed our connection and I’m determined not to let much time pass between those times we hear each other’s voices. Emails and texts are not the same as the sound of her voice.
Today is my darling husband’s birthday. I baked a coconut cake for him yesterday and tonight will make a skillet chicken pot pie because that’s what he requested. I’d never made a coconut cake but knew by choosing Ina Garten’s recipe, I was in expert hands. Typical of The Barefoot Contessa, I was also about to create a cake that needed a waiver of responsibility for the blood thickening and heart attack cholesterol enhancing amount of butter. But her recipes are always worth the risk of sudden death. This cake was no different.
Although my cake's appearance would have prompted laughter in any cooking competition, the taste was fabulous. I never liked coconut cake, but I’ll make this cake again, it was that good.
I enjoyed finding two perfect birthday cards for Bob, and writing out my love and delight in sharing another birthday together. His birthdays I love.
Mine, not so much. I’m delighted to have the opportunity to experience another year, but most of my birthdays have been disappointing. That started in my childhood because I was an August baby, and no one was around. The kids whose birthdays occurred during the school year got cupcakes brought to the class by their mothers and we all sang happy birthday.
My only birthday party was when I was five. I love the videos of my friends lined up for Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey as they moved the youngest boy, my next-door neighbor, Phil, to the back of the line. I relished in the celebration and attention, and a picture of me with my arm raised shows my delight and the camera ham I was once upon a time.
After a while, August, my birthday month, arrived like a cloud inside my gut and I’d sink into sadness. This lasted until my 27th birthday, when a wealthy new boyfriend created the most memorable birthday imaginable. I wrote about it in my recently completed new memoir. He took me to the Beverly Wilshire Hotel in Beverly Hills, and during lunch gave me a card telling me I had a suite at the hotel and my limousine was waiting outside. He told me to invite all my friends for dinner that night. I spent the afternoon shopping on Rodeo Drive, then riding in the limo to my favorite beach in Malibu. The night was a delight of excellent Mexican food and many laughs afterwards in my suite. The whole day was a little girl’s fantasy motion picture dream of a birthday. Memorable in ways most of my birthdays haven’t been.
One of my best birthdays will surprise you. My 70th birthday started when I woke up on a small hard couch next to my husband’s hospital bed. He was recovering from emergency surgery the night before that almost killed him. A hospital was not my idea of the best place to celebrate a milestone birthday. What made the day one of my best is that I awakened next to my husband who was still alive. I couldn’t ask for anything better to celebrate.
And here we are again, today, celebrating another birthday together. Yay—Bob is still here! Our day will be simple and we’re both fine with that, except the reason is due to health issues. We don’t like the health problems because they challenge who we are, how we think of ourselves, and what our future may hold.
Because we don’t know the future, we choose to celebrate every day, but especially today, because my Bobby was born on this date.
Now it’s your turn: First, wish Bobby a happy birthday. Then tell us about your birthdays and what they mean to you.
We learn from each other.
Love,
Ginni
It’s Monday and it’s raining. I am far behind on my chores and ton’s of things to read, but I decided to take a little time for me. So, upped popped this story. Of course Bob’s birthday was a couple weeks ago, but it doesn’t take a birthday to make me think about my dearest friends, especially you and Bob. Ginni, you have a wonderful way with words. I suspect that it’s a natural thing for people who have the ability to write well, to be constantly peeking in new doorways everyday to find something to stir their interest and then grab a pencil. It’s our good fortune to celebrate yours and Bob’s birthdays, but even more important, to think of you daily with affirmations of wellness and happiness. #NuffsaidbyDean
As usual, amazingly pithy while deeply emotional... the two do not often go together except at the tip of your pen.
3/3 is my birthday.
I always remember other cultures do other things. To some the birthday is many days after actual birth because they survived to that day.
Someone I read once asked why we don't mourn being born and celebrate dying because this life is so ... well, ucky.
I love your best birthday at 70. So true, direct and kind.
Just like YOU!