Tuesday was my birthday.  I wasn’t especially looking forward to it.  But I wasn’t not looking forward to it either.  It’s not like  “Whoopie, now I can drive or drink or vote.”  Those were the birthdays that really mattered. 

What I can do at seventy-seven is be grateful that I made it to here in good health and that I have a life full of family and friends. 

On Tuesday, I heard from everybody.  The grandchildren and their parents sang Happy Birthday over the phone.  Seth called while rushing around to leave on assignment to Georgia and Armenia. A former roommate that I hadn’t heard from in more than a year called.  My brother called.  Aunt Ruth, age 103, called.

Of course, Peter treated me like queen-for-a-day.

After all that excitement, I am relieved that it's twelve months ’til the next one.