I turned 37. I did it with a six-hour work meeting, the kind that reminds you you’re a capable thinker and that the group’s morning bagels weren’t wholly responsible. I celebrated later with deep kisses, a sliver of a hamburger at a venue I’d pre-screened, a vodka gimlet sweetened by Splenda, a splendid milkshake with a punch of Kahlua. He was by my side, seated on a swivel of hard wood, with homemade pop tarts in the restaurant’s front case and a bartender who seemed to fancy my jokes.
I celebrated with high tea, cucumber finger sandwiches and inch-wide banana bread squares and lemon curd. My mother shared the ins and outs of loose tea preparation and requested more clotted cream. She came back to my apartment, an annual event, and humored me while I made lemon scones, each as big as my hand. I asked her twice to smell the lemon zest, to take in the kick in the pants that it somehow offers, this smelling salt of citrus. I mashed the batter with my hands like a child in sand. I wrapped two of the finished products and packaged them carefully in her to go bag.
I turned 37 without fanfare or shot of something appalling. I went to bed alone, one cat under my head and another square on my stomach, seemingly pacing his purr to the rise and fall of my chest. I didn’t take stock of life to date, didn’t invite dozens to drink. It was all sweeter, somehow. The simplicity of the days, the moments, not strung together or blurred. Maybe this is getting old.
*****
16 Comments
It is not getting old, it is becoming. Like good wine, which mellows as it ages and just gets better and more complex.
Happy 37.
Sounds like a pretty divine birthday, if you ask me. <3
You’re just extremely wise like that, dawg. I’m going to blow the roof off of 40 because I can, but 41? Probably a cat under my head. Yeah.
I hope your year is as extremely wonderful as you are.
It appears that I like the word “extremely” today. Extremely.
Happy birthday. Next year, live it dangerous by using sugar in the vodka gimlet rather than splenda.
Happy, happy birthday, lovely lady! Your celebrations sound wonderful.
Sounds nothing short of delightful. Happiest happy birthday.
I am seemingly a bit late, but happy birthday. If I remember correctly (and that’s questionable – but backed by the calendar) 37 was a very good year.
I imagine my 50th will soon be the same way – you’re just a kid – enjoy the days ;)
Happy belated, dawling!!!!
sounds pretty damn perfect to me.
37 years of being blessed by you — the Earth is very lucky indeed.
I can’t believe I’m belated in my happy happys! I’m so sorry! Will a box of wine make it up to you?
37 is going to be a good one for you, Cookie. Mark my words!
love love love LOVE you!
cats make all days endings seem perfect. I dont know that i could sleep w/o a purring cat.
Uh… HELLLLLOOOOOOO…. don’t ya think it’s time for at least a drunken update here????
Greetings from someone just a little older than you. Here’s what happens when you turn 43… lol; http://brownroadchronicles.wordpress.com/2010/09/30/my-43rd-birthday/
Seriously though great reading on your blog! Happy new year and hope you have a successful 2011!
Steve