"There aren't enough days in the weekend." - Rod Schmidt
The middle long weekend of the summer is here and I'm swallowing hard. Don't get me wrong. I'm happy to enjoy a long weekend when I have no commitments and the big party for Jacob's friends is at someone else's house. But I begin this holiday weekend with the sobering thought that on the next holiday weekend, in just one short month, Jacob will be moving back to Guelph.
A few days ago Jacob informed us that he would be moving a full week before Labour Day. He was under the mistaken impression that classes start on the day after Labour Day and he wanted some time to settle into his new house. Merv booked a moving truck and I tried not to cry. Jacob did say he would resign from work on August 20 to give us a little together time before he left. When he realized classes didn't start quite so early he amended his plans. He will resign from work on August 26. The next day he and Merv will load the truck and we will move him into his new place. Then he will come home with us to relax the following week and will go back to Guelph on Labour Day weekend. I like this plan better.
For one thing, we want to take Jacob and Jonathan to celebrate their coming of age at either Casino Rama or Casino Niagara - depending on what acts are playing and Jonathan's work schedule. Both my boys will be turning nineteen in the middle of the month. I also want some extra time after I've seen Jacob's new place to determine what else I need to buy to get him set up. So far, I've bought dishes and glasses, flatware, knives and a slow cooker. In the next few days I will order a new double bed and buy bedding. This weekend I will take him to Ikea so he can choose a desk, a dresser and a wardrobe (there is no closet in his room). I still need to steam clean the area carpet his Aunt Cath gave him.
The good news is I'm not experiencing the same level of angst as last year at this time. I know I will survive this separation. It's a bit like knowing I'm slated to make my 60K Weekend to End Women's Cancers walk just a week after Jacob goes. The walk will, no doubt, be painful but as it is my fourth time doing it, I know I will survive.
Apart from that shopping excursion with Jacob, I'm going to try not to think about any of it. It's the long weekend and I have a date with some good champagne and the twelve strands of purple pearls I bought last week that are crying out to be strung.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
Legally Blond
“Whoever said orange was the new pink was seriously disturbed.” - Elle Woods
In spite of rave reviews, the production of Legally Blond playing at The Princess of Wales Theatre is fair to middling at best. Merv and I attended tonight's show as part of our Mirvish subscription. It wasn't completely without merit but was more of an opera than a musical and the significant plot changes which have been made to the screenplay didn't enhance the story.
We arrived at the theatre fairly early so we had lots of time for people watching. And there were all kinds of people in attendance tonight. A fair number of children were there as were many people in their late teens and early twenties. Most of the audience from young to old was dressed in shorts and t-shirts, with the odd pair of jeans, sweats or yoga pants thrown in for good measure. There were some young women and adolescent girls dressed in Elle Woods' type dresses and only a handful of others like Merv and I who dressed with a little more formality than the rest of the crowd.
There is one couple who stood out from the rest. I see this pair each time we attend the theatre so we must share the same timetable for our subscription. I haven't quite figured out their relationship. He is about 6'4" tall. She doesn't quite reach his shoulder. They are middle aged, I would think in their late forties or early fifties. He wears his hair short in a conventional style and he is long and lean. She is a little bit plump and quite conservative in her appearance. What makes them stand out, is that he dresses in women's clothes and shoes and he carries a purse. Tonight's ensemble was a pair of loose black trousers with a black and white blouse and a pair of black pumps with kitten heels. He was carrying a mid-sized handbag in plum and black. Part of the mystery is that while he is dressed like a woman, they seem like a married couple and he makes no attempt to look like a woman - no makeup, no wig - just a tall, undistinguished man dressed like woman. Very strange indeed.
In spite of rave reviews, the production of Legally Blond playing at The Princess of Wales Theatre is fair to middling at best. Merv and I attended tonight's show as part of our Mirvish subscription. It wasn't completely without merit but was more of an opera than a musical and the significant plot changes which have been made to the screenplay didn't enhance the story.
We arrived at the theatre fairly early so we had lots of time for people watching. And there were all kinds of people in attendance tonight. A fair number of children were there as were many people in their late teens and early twenties. Most of the audience from young to old was dressed in shorts and t-shirts, with the odd pair of jeans, sweats or yoga pants thrown in for good measure. There were some young women and adolescent girls dressed in Elle Woods' type dresses and only a handful of others like Merv and I who dressed with a little more formality than the rest of the crowd.
There is one couple who stood out from the rest. I see this pair each time we attend the theatre so we must share the same timetable for our subscription. I haven't quite figured out their relationship. He is about 6'4" tall. She doesn't quite reach his shoulder. They are middle aged, I would think in their late forties or early fifties. He wears his hair short in a conventional style and he is long and lean. She is a little bit plump and quite conservative in her appearance. What makes them stand out, is that he dresses in women's clothes and shoes and he carries a purse. Tonight's ensemble was a pair of loose black trousers with a black and white blouse and a pair of black pumps with kitten heels. He was carrying a mid-sized handbag in plum and black. Part of the mystery is that while he is dressed like a woman, they seem like a married couple and he makes no attempt to look like a woman - no makeup, no wig - just a tall, undistinguished man dressed like woman. Very strange indeed.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Waiting
"But the important thing about learning to wait, I feel sure, is to know what you are waiting for." - Anna Neagle
I had an ultrasound appointment scheduled at 10:40 this morning at PMH. I decided to leave a bit early so that I would be on time if I experienced construction delays. Traffic was abysmal. Weaving my way through the city was slow but I was still poised to arrive and park in the garage behind the hospital with a full fifteen minutes to spare. Wrong. Toronto Rehab Hospital is undergoing renovation. By the time I sat and waited for the traffic cop to waive me through, the margin on my early arrival time had been seriously cut. Then I was delayed trying to park. The garage behind PMH has narrow lanes and lots of blind spots but I've navigated it so many times that it is like second nature to me. Not so for the five cars in front of me. By the time I got into a parking spot on Level 8 on the roof, the clock read 10:38. The elevator was slow and I ended up jogging to the hospital.
I needn't have bothered. The breast imaging department was so backed up, it was another full hour before I got into my appointment. I sat in a small cramped waiting room trying to keep the too small gown pulled across my chest while reading fourteen month old magazines. Every chair was occupied and the tension in the room was palpable. I don't know why I didn't bring my book reader with me this morning. After more than five years of the PMH experience, I ought to be more prepared. Tests and treatment is never the worst part of being there. It is the waiting that is so hard.
Every time I go for a diagnostic appointment at PMH be it ultrasound, mammography or MRI, I'm given a form to fill out. The form hasn't changed in the more than five years I've been going there and I fill it out at least four times a year. It asks questions about my cancer history and previous surgeries. It asks when I had previous MRIs, mammograms and ultrasounds. I always wonder if anyone ever actually looks at the form. Shouldn't all that information be in a data base at the hospital? When I had an MRI in June, I was give a two page form to fill out. Then the technician asked me every question I had already answered. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I was asked to fill out the form if I was going to be asked the questions orally just ten minutes later. I also wonder if anyone would notice if I change the answers from one appointment to the next. Clearly I have too much time on my hands sitting in waiting rooms.
Today's ultrasound itself was quick and uneventful. I have several more appointments scheduled in the next month at PMH. I'll try to do better next time - book reader, current magazine and soduku book or crossword puzzles close at hand.
I had an ultrasound appointment scheduled at 10:40 this morning at PMH. I decided to leave a bit early so that I would be on time if I experienced construction delays. Traffic was abysmal. Weaving my way through the city was slow but I was still poised to arrive and park in the garage behind the hospital with a full fifteen minutes to spare. Wrong. Toronto Rehab Hospital is undergoing renovation. By the time I sat and waited for the traffic cop to waive me through, the margin on my early arrival time had been seriously cut. Then I was delayed trying to park. The garage behind PMH has narrow lanes and lots of blind spots but I've navigated it so many times that it is like second nature to me. Not so for the five cars in front of me. By the time I got into a parking spot on Level 8 on the roof, the clock read 10:38. The elevator was slow and I ended up jogging to the hospital.
I needn't have bothered. The breast imaging department was so backed up, it was another full hour before I got into my appointment. I sat in a small cramped waiting room trying to keep the too small gown pulled across my chest while reading fourteen month old magazines. Every chair was occupied and the tension in the room was palpable. I don't know why I didn't bring my book reader with me this morning. After more than five years of the PMH experience, I ought to be more prepared. Tests and treatment is never the worst part of being there. It is the waiting that is so hard.
Every time I go for a diagnostic appointment at PMH be it ultrasound, mammography or MRI, I'm given a form to fill out. The form hasn't changed in the more than five years I've been going there and I fill it out at least four times a year. It asks questions about my cancer history and previous surgeries. It asks when I had previous MRIs, mammograms and ultrasounds. I always wonder if anyone ever actually looks at the form. Shouldn't all that information be in a data base at the hospital? When I had an MRI in June, I was give a two page form to fill out. Then the technician asked me every question I had already answered. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I was asked to fill out the form if I was going to be asked the questions orally just ten minutes later. I also wonder if anyone would notice if I change the answers from one appointment to the next. Clearly I have too much time on my hands sitting in waiting rooms.
Today's ultrasound itself was quick and uneventful. I have several more appointments scheduled in the next month at PMH. I'll try to do better next time - book reader, current magazine and soduku book or crossword puzzles close at hand.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Maid Service
"The Rose Bowl is the only bowl I've ever seen that I didn't have to clean." ~Erma Bombeck
I spent the weekend at Cath's lake house with Cath and Stan and my cousin Francis and his family. The last time I had a block of visiting time with him was seven years ago when he and his wife Pat and daughter Stephanie spent a couple of days with me on the weekend of Cath's fiftieth birthday. Unfortunately Merv was in Chicago on a business trip until Saturday afternoon and didn't feel up to making the drive to Havelock to join us for the remainder of the weekend. Nonetheless, the weather was spectacular and it was great to spend time reminiscing about our childhood days and getting to know one another as adults.
Jacob told me on Thursday that he had invited friends for a party on Friday night. As he is still a month from being legal, I made a trip to the liquor store on Friday morning to lay in a supply of beer and coolers. I also bought snacks. Jacob advised they would be ordering dinner in. I cleaned the house before I left with an expectation it would be clean when I returned. At around 7:00 P.M. Friday night, I had a call from Sara. She and Emily had decided they were going to cook for the gang instead of ordering in. Did I have pasta, peppers, tomato sauce, brown sugar...? A little later, the phone rang again. Sara had broken a plate and was extremely apologetic and upset. I calmed her down - after all it's just a plate, hardly worth being upset over. At 12:30 that night, she was again texting apologies. So much angst for something so inconsequential.
I drove home from the lake yesterday afternoon with the intention I would take a bath, change my clothes and head out to see my mom. I walked in to the smell of a dirty kitchen. While many might not have noticed, my hyper active nose told me before my eyes could, that the kitchen had not been cleaned from the Friday night party. Sure enough, I was greeted by unrinsed plates, dirty bowls and pots and pans covering every inch of the kitchen sinks and counters. The tomato sauce cans sat empty and unrinsed, pasta boxes were empty and a styrofoam meat tray displayed the remnants of the ground beef. The garbage bag was overflowing and the green garbage reeked. I wanted to cry. Far too annoyed to speak to Jacob about it at that point, I decided to just carry on to my mom's. Maybe he would clean up while I was out.
I finished at my mom's at five o'clock, stopped at the grocery store to buy something for dinner and proceeded home. As soon as I walked in the door, my trusty nose told me nothing had changed. Calmly I had a discussion with my son - while his friends are welcome here anytime, this hotel no longer comes with maid service. A set of really lame excuses was offered and rejected. Before I could make dinner, I spent a half hour cleaning up the kitchen. I'd like to think this will be the last time I have to engage in the clean up conversation. Somehow, though, I rather doubt it.
I spent the weekend at Cath's lake house with Cath and Stan and my cousin Francis and his family. The last time I had a block of visiting time with him was seven years ago when he and his wife Pat and daughter Stephanie spent a couple of days with me on the weekend of Cath's fiftieth birthday. Unfortunately Merv was in Chicago on a business trip until Saturday afternoon and didn't feel up to making the drive to Havelock to join us for the remainder of the weekend. Nonetheless, the weather was spectacular and it was great to spend time reminiscing about our childhood days and getting to know one another as adults.
Jacob told me on Thursday that he had invited friends for a party on Friday night. As he is still a month from being legal, I made a trip to the liquor store on Friday morning to lay in a supply of beer and coolers. I also bought snacks. Jacob advised they would be ordering dinner in. I cleaned the house before I left with an expectation it would be clean when I returned. At around 7:00 P.M. Friday night, I had a call from Sara. She and Emily had decided they were going to cook for the gang instead of ordering in. Did I have pasta, peppers, tomato sauce, brown sugar...? A little later, the phone rang again. Sara had broken a plate and was extremely apologetic and upset. I calmed her down - after all it's just a plate, hardly worth being upset over. At 12:30 that night, she was again texting apologies. So much angst for something so inconsequential.
I drove home from the lake yesterday afternoon with the intention I would take a bath, change my clothes and head out to see my mom. I walked in to the smell of a dirty kitchen. While many might not have noticed, my hyper active nose told me before my eyes could, that the kitchen had not been cleaned from the Friday night party. Sure enough, I was greeted by unrinsed plates, dirty bowls and pots and pans covering every inch of the kitchen sinks and counters. The tomato sauce cans sat empty and unrinsed, pasta boxes were empty and a styrofoam meat tray displayed the remnants of the ground beef. The garbage bag was overflowing and the green garbage reeked. I wanted to cry. Far too annoyed to speak to Jacob about it at that point, I decided to just carry on to my mom's. Maybe he would clean up while I was out.
I finished at my mom's at five o'clock, stopped at the grocery store to buy something for dinner and proceeded home. As soon as I walked in the door, my trusty nose told me nothing had changed. Calmly I had a discussion with my son - while his friends are welcome here anytime, this hotel no longer comes with maid service. A set of really lame excuses was offered and rejected. Before I could make dinner, I spent a half hour cleaning up the kitchen. I'd like to think this will be the last time I have to engage in the clean up conversation. Somehow, though, I rather doubt it.
Monday, July 12, 2010
It's Twilight Time
"There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls."
George Carlin
I admit I feel a little silly - a middle aged woman swooning over a werewolf who is about the same age as my son. But there was that close-up of Jacob Black without his shirt and a collective sigh emanated from all the women in the theater and the gay man beside me.
Last night I went with my friend Nancy and a few others to see the latest movie in the Twilight series. It's hard to explain to someone the appeal of these adolescent vampire stories. When Nancy suggested I read the books, I thought that was a little strange but I picked up the first in the four part series and within three days had finished the fourth and last book. The stories are enthralling though they lack the complexity of the Harry Potter series. Nonetheless, the same level of suspension of disbelief is required. I'm willing to do that.
The story line is about a regular human girl who finds herself torn between two love interests, one a vampire and one a werewolf. It is clear from the start that the vampire will triumph and ultimately he does. When reading the books, I pictured the characters in a very different way than they are portrayed in the movie. Edward, the vampire, was exceptionally beautiful in my mind. Jacob Black, the werewolf, not so much. But for me, watching the movie, I'm all about the werewolf. He is infinitely more appealing than the vampire though he is barely beyond being jail bait.
The Twilight book series is mind candy. Watching Jacob Black in the movie is eye candy. Both feed the adolescent girl still living in my middle-aged body.
George Carlin
I admit I feel a little silly - a middle aged woman swooning over a werewolf who is about the same age as my son. But there was that close-up of Jacob Black without his shirt and a collective sigh emanated from all the women in the theater and the gay man beside me.
Last night I went with my friend Nancy and a few others to see the latest movie in the Twilight series. It's hard to explain to someone the appeal of these adolescent vampire stories. When Nancy suggested I read the books, I thought that was a little strange but I picked up the first in the four part series and within three days had finished the fourth and last book. The stories are enthralling though they lack the complexity of the Harry Potter series. Nonetheless, the same level of suspension of disbelief is required. I'm willing to do that.
The story line is about a regular human girl who finds herself torn between two love interests, one a vampire and one a werewolf. It is clear from the start that the vampire will triumph and ultimately he does. When reading the books, I pictured the characters in a very different way than they are portrayed in the movie. Edward, the vampire, was exceptionally beautiful in my mind. Jacob Black, the werewolf, not so much. But for me, watching the movie, I'm all about the werewolf. He is infinitely more appealing than the vampire though he is barely beyond being jail bait.
The Twilight book series is mind candy. Watching Jacob Black in the movie is eye candy. Both feed the adolescent girl still living in my middle-aged body.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Selling Tickets
"It's a good year to get into raffles."
~ Scott Curtis
I remember the days when Jacob was in school and every parent would be sent a bundle of raffle tickets to sell or a catalogue of gift wrap or cookie mix or chocolates which we were expected to peddle to friends and family to raise funds for the school. I cringed every time I got a package of something I was expected to sell. For starters, I had created a rule at my place of employment that peddling goods for one's children's school, sports teams or asking for sponsorships for non-company sponsored events was banned. I did that after the seventh or eighth time I had been asked to buy something or sponsor someone's child's activities in the first week of my employment. People ignored the rule and I never made an issue of it, but it did help to cut down on the solicitations at least a little. I never wanted to ask my friends or family either to spend money to buy goods at inflated prices and of questionable quality. I usually placed a significant order myself, or in the case of raffle tickets, just bought the lot. I even won a few times though my outlay of cash usually exceeded the value of the prize.
I thought I had put those days behind me. Then I joined the board of Willow. At a board meeting a couple of years ago, I was handed twenty raffle tickets for the raffle at Willow's signature fundraising event, Eat to the Beat, and advised I was expected to sell them. I bought six and handed the balance back to the agency to be sold at the event. Many of my fellow board members did the same. Most of us don't work in corporate offices where it is easy to peddle tickets at $20 a piece. Last year, our raffle organizers who had run the raffle for years, decided to step off the committee. One reason that was cited was their perception of the lack of effort put forth by board members to sell raffle tickets. It was a long and sorry drama that I will not relate today. I was given no raffle tickets to sell last year. I was, however, given ten Eat to the Beat event tickets to sell, which I sold with a fair amount of ease and then placed an order for another six tickets. This year, I will not be selling event tickets. It is so much easier for the agency, me and buyers to buy the tickets on-line that I will encourage family and friends to join us but to buy their tickets directly. I was pleased to hear that there would be no expectation for me to sell event tickets this year. I was less pleased when I was handed an envelope containing twenty raffle tickets with an expectation that I will sell them.
The good news is that the prizes are great. First prize is a five-star, all-inclusive trip to Mexico. Second prize is a Persian carpet. Third is an Italian 14K white gold necklace. Fourth prize is a beautiful queen sized sapphire star quilt. Fifth prize is an Avenir 6-speed folding bicycle. The draw will take place at Eat to the Beat on Tuesday, October 5. Tickets are $20 each or 3 for $50. If you are interested in buying a ticket, please let me know.
As for the actual event, Willow Breast Cancer Support Canada’s annual fundraising gala, Eat to the Beat, features over 60 of Canada’s finest female chefs – all gathered in support of Willow’s free programs and services.
Highlighted as one of Toronto’s top 10 events by BizBash magazine, this year marks Eat to the Beat’s 15th anniversary, having raised more than $3 million for Willow. The event is held at Roy Thompson Hall and tickets are $150 each. For more information or to purchase tickets on-line, go to wwww.eattothebeat.ca.
~ Scott Curtis
I remember the days when Jacob was in school and every parent would be sent a bundle of raffle tickets to sell or a catalogue of gift wrap or cookie mix or chocolates which we were expected to peddle to friends and family to raise funds for the school. I cringed every time I got a package of something I was expected to sell. For starters, I had created a rule at my place of employment that peddling goods for one's children's school, sports teams or asking for sponsorships for non-company sponsored events was banned. I did that after the seventh or eighth time I had been asked to buy something or sponsor someone's child's activities in the first week of my employment. People ignored the rule and I never made an issue of it, but it did help to cut down on the solicitations at least a little. I never wanted to ask my friends or family either to spend money to buy goods at inflated prices and of questionable quality. I usually placed a significant order myself, or in the case of raffle tickets, just bought the lot. I even won a few times though my outlay of cash usually exceeded the value of the prize.
I thought I had put those days behind me. Then I joined the board of Willow. At a board meeting a couple of years ago, I was handed twenty raffle tickets for the raffle at Willow's signature fundraising event, Eat to the Beat, and advised I was expected to sell them. I bought six and handed the balance back to the agency to be sold at the event. Many of my fellow board members did the same. Most of us don't work in corporate offices where it is easy to peddle tickets at $20 a piece. Last year, our raffle organizers who had run the raffle for years, decided to step off the committee. One reason that was cited was their perception of the lack of effort put forth by board members to sell raffle tickets. It was a long and sorry drama that I will not relate today. I was given no raffle tickets to sell last year. I was, however, given ten Eat to the Beat event tickets to sell, which I sold with a fair amount of ease and then placed an order for another six tickets. This year, I will not be selling event tickets. It is so much easier for the agency, me and buyers to buy the tickets on-line that I will encourage family and friends to join us but to buy their tickets directly. I was pleased to hear that there would be no expectation for me to sell event tickets this year. I was less pleased when I was handed an envelope containing twenty raffle tickets with an expectation that I will sell them.
The good news is that the prizes are great. First prize is a five-star, all-inclusive trip to Mexico. Second prize is a Persian carpet. Third is an Italian 14K white gold necklace. Fourth prize is a beautiful queen sized sapphire star quilt. Fifth prize is an Avenir 6-speed folding bicycle. The draw will take place at Eat to the Beat on Tuesday, October 5. Tickets are $20 each or 3 for $50. If you are interested in buying a ticket, please let me know.
As for the actual event, Willow Breast Cancer Support Canada’s annual fundraising gala, Eat to the Beat, features over 60 of Canada’s finest female chefs – all gathered in support of Willow’s free programs and services.
Highlighted as one of Toronto’s top 10 events by BizBash magazine, this year marks Eat to the Beat’s 15th anniversary, having raised more than $3 million for Willow. The event is held at Roy Thompson Hall and tickets are $150 each. For more information or to purchase tickets on-line, go to wwww.eattothebeat.ca.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Birthday Blessings
"I would thank you from the bottom of my heart,
but for you my heart has no bottom." - Anon
Though my birthday was on Friday, celebrations continue. I had a wonderful weekend in Havelock being feted and spoiled by my family and friends. The weather was perfect, the presents embarrassingly abundant, every meal was a feast and there was no shortage of champagne. What more could a birthday girl ask?
A couple of weeks ago Judy booked me for a birthday dinner to be held tonight. She told me she was at an appointment in my neighbourhood today so she would pick me up for dinner. I asked where we were headed so I could ensure I was appropriately dressed but in reply was told just to dress comfortably and casually. Even enroute to dinner Judy declined to tell me where we were going but when we got a block from our friend Nancy's house, I figured out that was where we were going. I was greeted by Nancy and Josee and soon joined by our dear friend Samia. Birthday dinner with Judy turned into birthday dinner with the lovely women who mother Jacob's dearest friends. It seems the ladies had divided the work of dinner into courses and we were headed for a feast. Beautiful hors d'ovres were followed by an excellent main, a delicious salad and luscious cake. At the end of the meal I was showered with gifts. The whole night was a surprise. I absolutely loved it.
Tomorrow evening I will have a birthday dinner with my much younger friend Gail. She will make it a point (as she does every year) to tell everyone within earshot that it is her much older friend's birthday. After all, I have seven weeks on her. We will go to the Keg, sit on the patio and enjoy cocktails from the list of Keg specials. We'll talk about sampling many choices from the cocktail menu but we'll really each have only one and try not to fall asleep before we finish dinner.
When I was younger, I was happy to let my birthday pass quietly, celebrating the day with family. When July 2 passed, the celebration was done for another year. But when I hit fifty I started to feel differently about my birthday. The milestone year was, in my mind, certainly cause for a bigger celebration but I expected I would go back to my quiet observation the following year. So much happened in the year I was fifty that my perspective on my birthday changed. I hear people saying they've stopped counting birthdays as they don't want the reminder of aging. Some people tell me they just want their birthdays to pass without fanfare so they don't have to acknowledge the growing numbers of their age. But that isn't me. We all know there is only one alternative to aging. And I've been too close to the alternative to casually dismiss the gift of a birthday. So for however many more I get (and I hope there will be lots), I plan to celebrate each and every one.
but for you my heart has no bottom." - Anon
Though my birthday was on Friday, celebrations continue. I had a wonderful weekend in Havelock being feted and spoiled by my family and friends. The weather was perfect, the presents embarrassingly abundant, every meal was a feast and there was no shortage of champagne. What more could a birthday girl ask?
A couple of weeks ago Judy booked me for a birthday dinner to be held tonight. She told me she was at an appointment in my neighbourhood today so she would pick me up for dinner. I asked where we were headed so I could ensure I was appropriately dressed but in reply was told just to dress comfortably and casually. Even enroute to dinner Judy declined to tell me where we were going but when we got a block from our friend Nancy's house, I figured out that was where we were going. I was greeted by Nancy and Josee and soon joined by our dear friend Samia. Birthday dinner with Judy turned into birthday dinner with the lovely women who mother Jacob's dearest friends. It seems the ladies had divided the work of dinner into courses and we were headed for a feast. Beautiful hors d'ovres were followed by an excellent main, a delicious salad and luscious cake. At the end of the meal I was showered with gifts. The whole night was a surprise. I absolutely loved it.
Tomorrow evening I will have a birthday dinner with my much younger friend Gail. She will make it a point (as she does every year) to tell everyone within earshot that it is her much older friend's birthday. After all, I have seven weeks on her. We will go to the Keg, sit on the patio and enjoy cocktails from the list of Keg specials. We'll talk about sampling many choices from the cocktail menu but we'll really each have only one and try not to fall asleep before we finish dinner.
When I was younger, I was happy to let my birthday pass quietly, celebrating the day with family. When July 2 passed, the celebration was done for another year. But when I hit fifty I started to feel differently about my birthday. The milestone year was, in my mind, certainly cause for a bigger celebration but I expected I would go back to my quiet observation the following year. So much happened in the year I was fifty that my perspective on my birthday changed. I hear people saying they've stopped counting birthdays as they don't want the reminder of aging. Some people tell me they just want their birthdays to pass without fanfare so they don't have to acknowledge the growing numbers of their age. But that isn't me. We all know there is only one alternative to aging. And I've been too close to the alternative to casually dismiss the gift of a birthday. So for however many more I get (and I hope there will be lots), I plan to celebrate each and every one.
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