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.