Skip to main content

Birthday Week

Birthday Week
Before the World of Wearable Art Show, Wellington

You've probably had a few birthdays that took you by surprise: Maybe you were somewhere you didn't expect to be, celebrating with people you never expected to meet, having conversations you never expected to have.

Last year, I turned 40 in Paris. I walked to a tiny cafe called Le Comptoir (The Counter) in the 6th arrondisement with my dad and his wife. I savoured salmon and the most perfect bowl of plump, pinky-red raspberries (framboises, in French – a lovely word, n'est pas?).
Raspberries at Le Comptoir, Paris

This year, I turned 41 in New Zealand. I spent eight hours of my birthday in a Range Rover with The Boyfriend, peering at snow-capped mountains, green hills, gray mama sheep with their suckling lambs; and giant white wind turbines while driving narrow, winding roads from Wellington to Mount Maunganui. 

We stumbled on dinner during a pit stop at the Rangitaiki Tavern (reknowed as a biker pub). I shouted (treated) The Boyfriend and Fiona and Finley mince (ground beef) and cheese pies. Finley said, "If I eat my half, can I have another?" I told him, "Yes, but I doubt you'll eat all that." He did. I ate a toasty ham and cheese sandwich, washed down with a pot of Gumboot (standard-issue Kiwi) tea. Dessert was a couple pieces of Whitaker's dark chocolate with almonds. It was a classic EnZed experience, unscripted, unrehearsed and just fine by me.

I tend to celebrate my birthday for a week, or even a month, so whatever we do September 5th is but one slice of the b-day pie (or cake, or pizza...). I bought tickets to the World of Wearable Arts show in Wellington http://www.worldofwearableart.com/ and arranged a two-night city getaway, sans kids, with The Boyfriend, Pete. His sister and her children kept Fiona and Finley occupied and happy while we were gone. This is remarkable, considering the kids and I had no idea Pete and his family existed until about six months ago.

Also remarkable - the cast of characters who laughed, ate and drank with Pete and me at our 86th birthday bash -the Spanish couple who invited the kids and I to live with them after learning we needed to find a new home; the Germans who've just gained permanent NZ residency and a new job; the Kiwi runners who push me up The Mount and swap stories over coffee afterwards; the church family worker who connected me with fellow mums who've become friends; the South African and her family who share play dates, girls' nights and meals... These are friendships born not of a newcomer's desperation, but of shared interests and experiences.

Birthdays force you to pause – your mind, your mouth, your movement - for a nanosecond and take stock. Inventory things done and left undone. Lessons learned and common sense ignored. You ask yourself: What do I know this year I didn't know before? What do I know – at all?

What I think I know at 41:

-You get second chances
-Smart people can make unwise decisions
-My skin will continue to break out until the day I die. It's my face's way of telling me I'm still alive.
-You can't take a trip without affecting someone else. Your journey could change their lives, too.
-The person you become in 15 minutes will be different from the person you are right now.
-It doesn't take long to fall in love.
-If I do nothing else right in a day, at least I've applied sunscreen.
-Rarely will anything ever work out the way I expect.
-Two margaritas after a run, before food, is not a good idea.
-You can live far from home and still have the luxury of too many social engagements.
-Love is a powerful motivator. So's desire.
-Children are here to return us to the present moment.
-If you stop moving long enough, the nesting instinct returns.
-Fence-sitting for too long gives you a sore bum and a tired brain.
-Sunscreen, sunscreen, sunscreen.

What I don't know:

-Whether and when I or those closest to me will get sick or injured.
-Whether The Boyfriend and I are willing to make the extreme sacrifices required to stay together.
-Whether my kids will swim proper freestyle this year.
-Whether the All Blacks will win the World Cup.
-What I'm doing with the rest of my life.

Do we ever answer that last question? We don't really know, do we? Plans are like ocean currents – shifting, changing, ebbing, flowing. You make a plan and a rip current pulls you under and sets you drifting far from where you started. Or you start swimming and learn you have more stamina to go further than you ever imagined. Then friends with a boat tow you to shore. Joy, wrapped in a shiny bundle of Surprise, awaken you to new possibilities. Even at your age. Even at mine.

Cheers to another year.  

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Murder House

Murder House (MUH-dah House) The deed is done              “I don’t wanna go to the dentist. It’s gonna hurt,” says Fiona. I can hardly deny my eight-year-old the truth, but I can tiptoe around it.             “They’re going to rub medicine on your gums to numb them,” I tell her. “And they can put your tooth to sleep with a needle.”             Fiona gasps, “I don’t want a needle! No!” Oops. I shouldn’t have used the “n” word. Fiona starts her high-pitched screeching if she thinks a needle exists in the next room. When I got the kids immunized in preparation for dragging them round-the-world, Fiona cried as the nurse swabbed her upper arm with iodine. You would’ve thought someone was whacking off her limb with a rusty saw, yet the needle lay feet from Fiona’s body. New Zealand is not the place for dental work for a squeamish, sobbing little girl. I learned after bringing Fiona to a dental clinic during the Christmas school vacation (otherwise known as summer holidays) that sch
9 comments
Read more

The Affair

The Affair Ohope Beach, NZ I had an affair last week. I’m not ashamed to tell you, either. It was sweet and sad. It made me laugh, cry, sigh and dance in my chair to James Brown and Rupert Holmes. My Kiwi PAHT-nah, Pete, even facilitated the tryst, though neither of us knew what to expect beforehand. Pete watched the kids while I was gone for five nights. Five whole nights.  No kids. No TV. No partner.  I enjoyed a dalliance with my late husband, Sean (though I should write instead, ‘dead husband,’ because Sean hated being late). It happened in a wood-paneled house across the street from the ocean, in Ohope Beach, New Zealand. I attended a writer’s retreat to work on the memoir. I revised six sections totaling more than 40,000 words. In the course of revising- subtracting old text and adding entries from letters Sean had written me when we first started dating, plus journal entries he wrote around the time Fiona was born - I fell in love again. With Sean’s openn
2 comments
Read more

Jumping Off a Cliff

 I jumped from a cliff in Oregon last Friday. Actually, I ran straight off. There was nothing unpleasant about that particular patch of grass high above Oceanside. But standing with my feet planted on the ground was preventing me from completing an item on my “bucket list:” flying. Strapped to a harness, an emergency parachute and my instructor pilot, Todd, I launched into my first paragliding experience (for an explanation of what paragliding is, click here): http://discoverparagliding.com/Pages/faq.html#WhatisPG It was glorious. I sat against the back of my chute and felt the wind against my face. I felt birdlike, calm, free. Todd steered over the tops of pine trees and the roofs of houses. I waved to a man on his deck below. I listened to waves crashing against Three Arches rocks and inhaled the salt air. Flinging yourself from terra firma isn’t easy. I could’ve knit a sweater between my knocking knees, I was shaking so much. But the desire to soar triumphed over attachment to th
13 comments
Read more