Birthdays
stir things up. The child
anticipates, the adult dreads. The child
yearns to increase his number, telling everyone in the months preceding the fifth
birthday – I am four and three quarters! Then, the years pile onto the number, like
ants on a log, stubble on a chin, dandelions in a summer lawn. Folks start to say “it’s just another day”; “I
don’t celebrate anymore”; “Ach, who needs em?” “Nothing special”.
A very little girl with soft formed curls stands on
a chair in an pale organdy dress, a bow clamped on the side of her head as big
as a bird in flight. A few tanned
children sit around the table looking up at her. A basket of flowers, its handle tall and
rounded. Her uncle helps her to cut the
cake, his hand on the knife over hers.
Who took the picture? Where were
her parents? He seemed so in charge. Birthdays stir things up.
A pre-teen with budding breasts in a sailor shirt; a lanky teen with bad skin, shorn hair and a
guarded smile; a young woman with
flashy, hanging earrings and a smile made brighter by her first legal drink,
holds up a gift of a used shirt and a half filled bottle of Canoe at the
Seaweed tavern. Birthdays stir things up.
A navy blue tube top, and the young Mother wears an
annoyed (or is it sad, resigned?) smile on her face directed at the picture
taker. She holds up a chocolate chip
cookie, as big as a pizza pie and frosted with her name, next to her bony
neck. Her pre-teen daughter looks on,
serious.
Denim cut-offs and braless, she poses with a Burger
King crown on her head, happy with her newly pierced ears at age thirty. She’d been inspired by Barbara Streisand in a
Star is Born. The perm came shortly
after, but it turned out more like Harpo Marx.
Birthdays stir things up.
The sisters had a cake; she’d been dropped off at
the local airport by a friend in his
private plane; he’d taken her to Hyannis for the weekend. She looked tanned and happy as she cut the cake,
but her son leaned in at her elbow, looking up at her with an awful face; she’d
gone away for the weekend and left him behind.
Birthdays stir things up.
A Hostess twinkie
with a single candle and a single friend.
She yearned for her children.
Three small boys, strangers to her, entered the
small shop where she worked and announced “we have a message for you”, then
lined up and sang Happy Birthday. Wonderful!
A landmark dinner with her daughter and best friends.
Laughter and friendship and love, tucked into one of those very intricate parts
of brain and heart, encapsulated for retrieval when needed.
Another landmark: water sculptures along the Hudson
with family; the memorable dinner; the thrill of seeing all those loved faces
around the table; the new baby in her pink sunsuit chewing on a chunk of bread.
A trip to Brooklyn, a huge surprise, her son hiding
in the corner of the living room, all the way from Tennessee. Birthdays stir things up.
Strangford Loch, Ireland. The chef came out in checkered pants and big
puffy chef’s hat and led a three cheers salute for the very big landmark day. Hip
Hip Hooray!
Harmonica serenade, singing phone messages, attempted
whistling message, unexpected flowers delivered, cards, small messages of love
and joy. A day of ease, painting,
Priscilla Queen of the Desert, A quiet dinner with a quiet man…Birthdays stir things up.
