I recently had one of those decade milestone birthdays. I am not an enormous fan of birthday celebrations in general, and less so when I am the one in the spotlight. I can’t remember ever being excited about my own birthday, at least not in the way I imagine other people get excited. I guess I really don’t know if other people are truly excited on their birthdays or if it is all performative theatre. Maybe some of each? I know I get embarrassed, especially when I open presents in front of people. I feel like I’m going to let them down in some undefinable way.
My first memory of my own birthday was when I was very young—perhaps three? Definitely no more than four. I was a shy little kid who liked to be alone and sleep a lot. Who knows why. As far as I know things hadn’t yet fallen apart in my world at that point, so I don’t think I was depressed per se. Though disaster was looming, no one knew that yet. Definitely not little Lori. So, I was just a little odd, I guess. Anyway, my older brother, Billy, was the sunny opposite—funny, excitable, energetic. Everything delighted him.
The thing I remember about that early birthday is being shaken out of the soft cocoon of sleep by Billy jumping up on my bed and hopping around whooping, “Sissy, sissy, wake up. It’s your birthday!” I am pretty sure he stepped on me during the process. I reacted the way a fifty-year-old spinster might, groaning and covering my head with my pillow and telling him to go away. It was a story often repeated in the family. Billy was more excited about Lori’s birthday than she was.
Over the years, birthdays never really got more exciting, except, perhaps, for the 18th, because when I turned 18 it became legal for me to drink alcohol in the state of Wisconsin and I was, sadly, very interested in taverns in those days. I was a bit of a lost soul. By the time I turned 21, I was a mother, and so there was little reason or opportunity to celebrate my own birthday. I could instead focus on making birthdays memorable for my son, and then my daughter when she came along a few years later. I enjoyed making their cakes, choosing presents for them, planning little parties. I began taking my daughter to Disneyland every year on her birthday since we lived nearby at the time, and she continues to be a huge Disneyland fan to this day.
I think it was when I was in my late thirties that my friend Cheryl suggested we start a birthday tradition of meeting somewhere special to celebrate our milestone birthdays, the ones that ended in 0, and so it was that we went to Robert Redford’s Sundance Resort in Utah for our 40th birthdays. We have been friends since we were little girls, and we are only a couple months apart. The once-a-decade birthday trip suited me. No big gatherings. No embarrassing surprises, just two old friends going for nature walks and eating nice food. Perfect!
This year I had three birthday celebrations! That’s a lot of cake! Not that a lot of cake is a bad thing. I had several days with my friend, Sandy, then several with my friend, Cheryl, and then a little visit with my sister-in-law, Kathy, and some of her family at her new home in Menominee, Michigan. It’s been wonderful. The only thing missing is my kids and grandkids who are far away. Spending time with them cannot come soon enough!
Birthdays can be a bit like New Year’s in a sense—a time to reflect on the past, celebrate, remember, and look forward—a time to plan ahead. My friends and family reminded me of the good things about reaching this milestone, of the experience and love, of pain, too, but also wisdom. Somehow, over the years I managed to raise two children, put myself through college and grad school, teach wonderful young people, and a few older ones, write several novels (and finally am in the process of getting the third one published), maintained rich and meaningful relationships (but also lost a few), and am experiencing now the joy of watching my beautiful grandchildren as they grow. A long life provides a kind of strength, a strength that recognizes the good, the bad, the hopelessness and the hopefulness—the totality of it all. And I have been all those things at one time or another.
I wish I could say I’ve put all my mistakes behind me, and that I have reached a state of peaceful benign bliss, but I definitely can’t! Just after priding myself on what I considered my valiant composure while under stress, and, in fact, bragging about it, my husband jumped into a swimming pool and got my hair wet. I lost my mind. I shot through the water like an angry shark, whipping and whacking water into his surprised face with an intensity never before seen outside of a hurricane. I was as surprised as he was! Where did that come from?
I guess I still have some growing up to do. I Am So Sorry, Sweetheart!
LakeArrowheadLadyWriter 