In those 38 years, I’ve filled my dance card with piano lessons and trips to Europe and skydives and marathons and a precocious nephew and a comically independent niece and a writing career in a big city. I’ve also survived broken bones and lost loved ones and burnt toast and mean kids on the playground and now the indignity of old-man hair on my back and arms.
So far, it’s all added up to a pretty charmed life. My family loves me. I’m able to live in a highrise with a pretty spectacular view. I have all my own teeth. Friends laugh at my jokes. Perfect strangers read my blog and even send me fan mail. People still think I’m cute.
And to celebrate all this, I’ve gotten socks (I needed socks!) and two cookbooks for all the dinner parties I want to throw and a Scrabble dictionary and a couple gift certificates at my favorite stores and diners and parties and cards and emails and well-wishes from friends and family members alike.
I’ve even given myself something special. Something I may blog about later (it would make the perfect spring/regrowth metaphor!). Or I may share it with only a few relevant friends. Or I may just keep it to myself. But it’s pretty cool, and I’m kind of excited about it. Sorry to be such a tease—but hey! It’s my birthday! I can do whatever I want! Like waste exclamation points!
It’s a beautiful sunny day today. My family just called to sing to me. It looks like I’ll have a light day at work. I’m meeting some friends for drinks afterwards, and another friend is buying me dinner tonight. And my parents are bringing me socks when they come to visit this weekend.
Who could ask for anything more?
Birthday update! My family in Iowa sent a cake to my office this morning to help me