I Love Birthdays!

I love my birthdays!  I've given up getting bent out of shape over just how many I've celebrated.  That's a threshold I've crossed that has freed me.  On my birthdays, now, instead of moaning about my age, I say what I want to do and where I want to go.  And doing so ALWAYS involves restaurants.

I also use my birthday for all it's worth.  Most of my life I've chosen to yield to others' comfort and choices.  Not on my birthday, baby.  Nooo. I proclaim this day (September 9) to be mine mine mine.

But the best part is that I get phone calls and cards.  And sometimes they even start before the big day.  My friend, Sue, presented me with a beautiful card and a spoon rest that she saw perfectly matched the colors in our Florida kitchen. How thoughtful!  My next card was waiting on the kitchen bar when I went downstairs this morning.  Sweet professions of LOVE.  Yessiree.

The first call this morning came from my buddy, Mary Ida, at the university where I taught.  She took time from her hectic morning at her desk to tell me how much she's been thinking about me and gosh, we need to get together.

Not long after that call, my cell phone rang again:  this was my stepson, Chris, and daughter-in-law, Tisha, calling from Rwanda to sing across the ocean and two continents!  Holy cow!

Later, while Greg and I were out getting a haircut, my friend, Cindy, called from Florida to wish me a great day and weekend.  Best yet, she and her husband, Jim, are, in three days, flying in for a visit, their first time to West Virginia.  By the way, my hairdresser's birthday is today, too, and she is exactly half my age.  We won't go there right now.

I'm on a roll!  So, I says to Greg, "Let's head on down to the post office to get my cards."  On the way, my brother, Karl called to check in and to tell me he misses me  (He actually forgot it was my birthday, but something inspired him to call today --first time in a couple of weeks.  So there you go).    

At the post office, I picked up my cards from my other brother, Ronald, my local friends, Jack and Weezie, and a sweet friend named Stephanie and her son, Willie.  THEN, before you know it, my phone rang and Ronald, from his Pittsburgh-area office, cleared his throat and sang the opening bars of "Happy Birthday" very badly.  But beautifully.  If he only knew I had put him on "speaker."  While I was standing in Ben Franklin's parking lot listening to my song, a local friend stopped by with baby party gear -- pink balloon, plates, napkins, and streamers.  Seems it's her daughter's first birthday today.  It's ok, I'll share.  I'm just like that.

Then back home and Weezie called.  A bit later, my son, Nathan, called from the road, heading out for a weekend of hiking with his buddy, Ben.  Nathan sounded so good as he wished me happy birthday and told me he loves me!  Yessss!  We talked until he drove into a dead zone, but Mama's happy.

Early this evening, my stepson, Kevin, presented me with a beautiful card decorated with lavender and sentiments of sweet spiritual knowing.

While writing this I received yet another call -- this from my nephew, Jonathan, and his mother, my sister, Karen, and another horrible rendition of "Happy Birthday" -- our family has never been accused of having singing talent.

It's eight pm and I'm holding out for a call from my son, Michael.  He likes to keep me waiting.

Now, about the restaurant.  I've relaxed and enjoyed the attention so much, that I forgot to plan where to go for my birthday dinner!  And since it is eight pm, I suppose the best thing to do is to proclaim tomorrow to be Birthday, PART 2.  I'm thinking Olive Garden.

*At ten pm, I'm returning to this post, to let you know that I heard from another friend, Debbie, and then, lo and behold, Michael!  I never lost hope!

Thanks to all my wonderful family and friends, I know that I'm loved.  And it didn't take my birthday to show me.  But I sure do like it anyway.  My next birthday will be here before I know it.
Love and kisses to each and every one of you.
(OK, already, I'm 62.  Sheesh.)