What was your best birthday? Weirdly my birthdays are getting better and better. (Weirdly because I’m getting older and older in a major way.) My current birthday (today) is so major that I only allow my new age to be said in French. “Soixante-dix, Babs?” my grandchildren yell at me. “How old are you really?" But here’s why my birthday was so great this year – R. took me and my daughters and their families off to a guest ranch for the weekend and I could ride a horse, hang out my grandchildren plus cows, chickens, pigs, ducks, goats and a huge turtle. Emma (whose birthday is the day before mine) and Cara learned how to knit, Axel – who up until six months ago liked to wear Emma’s pink tutu and princess crown – reveled in driving everybody crazy with burping and saying fart! in a loud voice, and Grace age four appeared either bored or embarrassed by us and joined other family groups. And tonight R. and I are going to go out for martinis and oysters. (I’m sorry but he’s not available for cloning. A number of my friends and a reader of the blog have inquired about this.) And during the day today I’m going to write a bit, take a run on the beach, and finish reading Isabel Allende’s delicious memoir, The Sum of Our Days.
Age has its priviliges
A writing exercise: Your best birthday. The worst birthday. 5 minutes for each.