Meandering Thoughts (#7)

"Age is a case of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter."

  ~ Mark Twain 

"Youth is happy because it has the ability to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old." 

  ~ Franz Kafka 

I don't mind, and I can still see beauty, so I should be okay.

It's that time of the year. Forgive me, but I need a moment to figure out how old I am. In the meantime, here is some background concerning my general indifference towards my birthdays.

(IIRC, I shared Pierre-Auguste Renoir's A Dance in the Country before. I enjoyed looking at it so much, I decided to share it again. But in my search for a new link, I discovered that it was part of series. The two other paintings are nearly as beautiful, though a special fondness remains for the woman in a Dance in the Country.)

This upcoming week I will be celebrating my birthday. It will be lowkey. Because of the pandemic, I will not be going out to eat. Instead, I will make a large pile of buffalo wings using my deep fryer and a recipe from Cooks Illustrated. At some point, I will bake up a dessert. What kind? I am not sure, yet. But I have a long list of possibilities.

Oh, and I plan on purchasing a new table saw. The one I received during Christmas, nearly twenty-five years ago, finally broke down. There are a list of woodworking projects that I want to attempt, and they require a solid, precision machine. The cheap pile of crap I borrowed in the mean time is not cutting it. I found one I like, however, it is not currently in stock at my big box home improvement store (the one where I get 5% off each purchase), and delivery is not an option, yet. So, I will will wait patiently. And waste more time dreaming up plans for my new tool.

Other than the possibility of acquiring a new toy for the garage, and having an excuse to deep fry food and consume a delicious dessert, my birthday means very little to me. Searching through my memories of childhood, I can only remember the details of a single party. I think it involved a Chuck E. Cheese and time spent at my house. There were classmates (not really friends since I did not have too many of them). Oh, a GI Joe toy. I think. Outside of that, my early birthdays involved two traditions: a trip to Toys R' Us and visit to a chain restaurant. The former would include my two brothers, because all three of us would be allowed to purchase something small on each others birthdays. The latter usually happened at a place that offered a free dessert (and singing... I remember singing) to the birthday child. Going out to eat was not a regular occurrence with my family, until my mother got tired of making Sunday meals for seven people, and other places, besides Chinese restaurants, opened up. So, going out was a treat.  

But time passes, traditions fade, and family dynamics shift. Toys R' Us became less enticing. Sitting in a public place while people sing happy birthday, became less appealing, especially to my teenage self. Plus, the free desserts became smaller, if they existed at all. So, birthdays were spent at home. And when you are anxious and awkward, and the few friends you have are almost all female, these gatherings consisted only of your parents and whichever siblings were around. Which were mostly my three brothers, and one of my two older sisters. 

Oh, and on two occasions, a familial blowup with screaming and tears. During dinner. Neither times was I the participant, just a witness. But both times I did cry. Mostly because I was a very sensitive person. Okay, I am still overly sensitive. 

As for those milestone birthdays, they meant little to me. I put off my license until I was twenty: I had nowhere to go, and when I did, my friends, who could not wait for the freedom of the open road, would chauffeur me around (hmm... could all this back and forth, transporting my daughters to dance class and competitions be payback?). I never drank, so twenty-one was nothing special.  And thirty just rolled on by. Probably because I had been married for several years already, we owned a house, and our first child had arrived. I think people who have not settled down care more about turning thirty than those who have anchored themselves with a spouse and kids. I was also preoccupied with more important things. Somewhere in that decade, my teaching career came to an ugly end, and I started, and stopped, my first blog. But I also began volunteering at my daughters' dance studio, and took on the life of a stage manager and prop master. And chauffeur. Made some new friends, learned some new skills, formed new goals. And reflected long and hard on what I had up accomplished up to that point. 

When I reached the top of the hill, there was a slight shift with regards to my birthday celebration.

But not because I was turning forty. In fact, the only reason there was any celebrating (and it was a big party, by my standards), involved the intersection of two other events, both of which were wedding anniversaries: our fifteenth and my in-laws' fiftieth.  All three milestones fell on the same year. So, we rented a hall and I decorated it, I made a video for my in-laws, and there was a special brunch the next morning. Interestingly, I had quite a few friends show up. Some were former students, and others were former co-workers. And one of the couples from the dance studio managed to show up. So in a way I came full circle at the party for my fortieth. Except the gifts were far more meaningful and personal (no GI Joe this time), the family far more extended (cousins and in-laws, in addition to parents and siblings), and the friends far more mature (for the most part). Oh, and the food was catered in a hall at a fire station, a far cry from Chuck E. Cheese.

Yet, in the birthdays since that blip in my timeline, not much has transpired. We either ordered in, or I made a meal. One of them occurred during the pandemic, but I do not remember exactly what we ate. And so I approach my upcoming birthday as I have done with so many others during my adult life. 

By asking a question.

How old am I again?  

And each time I would think about some special person in my life, remember how old they were, and do some easy calculations. And that is how I would get my answer. 

[Oh, yeah, I will be turning forty-three. Yippee.]

For the longest time, I just never gave a shit that I was getting older. It is inevitable, but also a sign that I was still alive. Although I have not decided yet, this year maybe different. I am still processing it. However, I will have a better idea by next week. 

In the meantime, go out and treat yourself to a delicious slice of cake or pie (I like chocolate and red velvet cakes; pumpkin, key lime, and apple pies), freshly baked cookies or brownies (I have a knack for making some tasty versions), a fine piece of chocolate (the imported kind, though I would settle for a king-sized Reese's Peanut Butter Cup with mini Reese's inside), a waffle cone filled with ice cream (covered with snickers, M&Ms, and rainbow sprinkles), a box of candy (Mike & Ikes, Sour Patch Watermelon, a bag of organic gummy worms), or a cannoli (though, I prefer the less sweet Sicilian kind). 

Let my birthday be your excuse to indulge in a good dessert and thoroughly enjoy every bite. Your gift to me is knowing that you are happy on my birthday. 

Happy Birthday to Me! 

(To be continued...)