I turned over another year yesterday. It was in many ways the perfect birthday. My guys took me out to dinner at a local bistro where I indulged in rare steak, Barnacle Boy baked me my favorite cake (rainbow angel food) and Math Man and I managed a lovely evening walk. Math Man braved the Internet with help from his IT support staff (aka my sons) and got me a mug with the warning "Not a good girl" and an 'inspiring' photo to help me get my game face on. I totally love it.
"What did you want for your birthday?" someone wondered. Truly? A block of time large enough to fold and put my laundry away. Though if you are asking about miracles, a fairy to clean my office and study would not go amiss!
There is always a bit of bittersweet in my birthday, a touch of winter's chill lingering in spring. Twenty-three (that many?) years ago my birthday was a gloriously warm Palm Sunday after a dark, damp winter. I threw all caution and class prep to the wind to play tennis with my husband. It was a joyous day, I had not a care. Tuesday I drove home early for a rehearsal for the Triduum. Wednesday he drove down to pick me up from a late night faculty meeting. He never went home.
Sitting in the sunwashed warmth of the bistro on Monday evening, the occasional wisp of winter worry drifted through the door.