Happy Birthday Blues

Happy Birthday Blues

In and out and on and on
Everybody goes
And where the fun with finally stops
Everybody knows
Girls it's me and you
Doing what we do
Just one way to lose
Those happy birthday blues

B.B. King, 1979

Tomorrow is my birthday…and I have the blues.

I don’t hate my birthday, but I never liked it very much as a child. It wasn’t until Jim came along that birthdays became special.

Being born in December is challenging for a kid. People tell you “oh…we didn’t make a big deal about your birthday because Christmas is coming up and that will be really special for you.”

Well….NO.

My birthday was special to ME.

I was another year older. Typically, I was at least half an inch taller than the year before. (Although, Mom does go on about the year I grew 4 inches from September to April.) And, certainly I was more mature. More grown up. All of my friends had big parties with a houseful of kids and presents. (OK…maybe not more mature…I admit it…I was jealous)

What I got was “we’ll just do this low-key” this year. And a card with $5 inside - $2 until I turned 10. (Although, I do recall that when I turned 16 I remember feeling very grown up when my mom’s sister giving me a beautiful crystal necklace that I passed on to my daughter at her 16th.)

Sharing the month with my 4 years and 10 days younger sister’s birthday, we often had joint parties…which by my early teen years truly sucked having to share with “little kids” as part of the party.

Humbug.

I’m whining here and I know it. But, that’s what happens when you get the birthday blues.

What I really wanted as a child (and a young teen) was a CELEBRATION. Something really fine that said “you are SPECIAL and we are so glad you are our daughter”.

But, the truth is that I wasn’t born into that kind of family nor did we have that kind of money. Birthdays were low-key because money was tight and my mother and dad thought Christmas was more important. (Not that we observed a particularly religious form of the holiday being semi-heathen and all.)

Hallmark birthdays…13, 16, 18, 21 were marked much the same as any other birthday my sister and I celebrated. (Well…21 was spectacular in that I had the mumps for the third time in my life on that birthday. That one definitely sticks out.)

As I got older, I didn’t…and don’t…mind birthdays being low-key. In fact, I prefer them that way. I’ve never fretted over turning 30, 40, 50. And that, in part, is due to my childhood. So, it’s not all bad.

Turning 55 is no big emotional deal. Anything that gets you a discount at some restaurants and drug stores can’t be all bad.

Other than being widowed, I have quite enjoyed these early 50’s. I’m old enough that I don’t care what the younger generation…or many others for that matter…think of my way of life. There are a few aches and pains, a certain dimming of the memory. And, we won’t even discuss my wrinkles, gray hair and ample caboose. Yet…all in all, I feel good and I don’t mind being the age I am. (Mentally, I’m much younger anyway…just a kid, in fact.)

Still…birthdays without Jim are anticlimactic. There were but 6 days between our ages and birthdays and usually celebrated the closest weekend between. We were together from our 19th birthdays through our 51st…all of our adult lives. I miss him and miss going to that special restaurant with the melt in your mouth steaks and prime rib. I miss the little nothing gifts that were, nonetheless, special for having remembered a thing mentioned months before. I miss snuggling next him on the couch with a cup of coffee examining the previous year and our hopes for the next. I miss the handmade cards our children gave us during their growing up and no money of their own years. I miss life the way it was back then. Frankly…I miss the me that was up until 3 ½ years ago.

Yet…the Handyman is a special gift in this second life. I know that as we spend more birthdays together I will develop the same sense of comfort in sharing them with him. He is a good and gentle man who loves me deeply and I know I am blessed that we found each other.

We will make new memories to add to those precious ones of the past. We will make a new restaurant our special birthday place. We’ll share those special little nothing birthday gifts with each other. (I’m listening to the early gift of the Celtic Woman CD he surprised me with as I write this.) And, we can snuggle on the couch reflecting the year just past and those we hope to have.

But…I still have the birthday blues.

Indelible

From Miriam-Webster:

Main Entry: in·del·i·ble
Pronunciation: in-'de-l&-b& l
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English indelyble, from Medieval Latin indelibilis, alteration of Latin indelebilis, from in- + del Ere to delete

1 a : that which cannot be removed, washed away, or erased
b : making marks that cannot easily be removed

As dawn takes up her brush to paint the morning sky I quietly celebrate the 1950 birth of the man who so lightly and lovingly rests within the memories of my heart. No big fanfare, no family dinner celebration, no special memorial ceremony to remind me of one who lives inside each breath I take. Just a quiet, personal remembrance of the fiercely gentle soul who touched my life from the day of our meeting in my doorway November 1969 to that late May afternoon in 2002.

Just as my life was forever changed when he walked into it, so was it changed when he so unwillingly left it. And, yet, his mark will forever be etched within my heart, soul and the life I live today.

Laughter came easy to him. As did treating people as he wished to be treated…influence from his father from the stories I’ve heard. In our growing up as a young married couple I watched this shy, almost backward southern boy metamorphose into a man so comfortable within his own skin he easily made others comfortable in theirs. People opened up to him; shared thoughts they kept from others knowing he never made judgment either on their words or on their lives.

Was he perfect? No. He was human, flawed and could aggravate me to my soul. He loved practical jokes, fireworks, family and friends. He left the toilet seat up, socks on the floor and his tools everywhere. His skill at procrastination was legendary within the family. (We were given an hour’s lead time on any family gathering.) He started a fight the night he proposed to prove the point you could be mad as hell and still love someone like crazy.

What I know of unconditional love…both given and received…comes from his example. What I know of the joy of life through even darkest times comes from the manner in which he lived every single day I knew him.

He was a gift…both a pearl beyond price and a diamond in the rough honed brightly through our time together. I will forever be touched by his presence. I carry him with me as I march forward in this new life I have unwillingly been handed.

Indelible.

Happy Birthday, darlin’.

Making Memories of Us*

Funny how some days don't go as planned and then turn out much better than anticipated. Yesterday was one of those that turned out to be one for the memory book. That it ended up a scene that could have been plucked from a Frank Capra period movie or Currier and Ives lithograph was tinsel on the tree.

My Handyman is involved in the renovation project for a guest cottage at the Biltmore House that was severely damaged in a flood last year. Part of this design work involves trips up to the property in Asheville, NC. Yesterday I was invited along. Never one to turn down an opportunity not to get things done on my to-do-list I accepted.

This cottage was built around 1910 and is exactly the style the Handyman thrives on working with. His designs are spot on for the era and will look fantastic once it is all in place. I loved standing in the midst of the history of the rooms and imaging the Vanderbilt lifestyle of the early 1900’s.

Yesterday was one of those vaguely warm days with the intuition of the chill to come as the sun slipped below the mountain’s crest. As the sun presented us with it’s evensong we dropped in the winery on the property, examined the kitchen vignette set up for the daily cooking with Biltmore wines presentations, chatted with the local chef as she cleaned and prepped for the next, made the purchase of a new wine and wound our way back into the historic Biltmore Village.

It was in the village that the emotional transformation began in my head. The small squares are dotted with quaint shops and galleries housed in vintage cottages where the workmen and women of the Manor House once lived. We walked hand-in-hand (and what marvelous strong, warm hands my Handyman has) strolling the sidewalks and browsing a charmingly eclectic artisan’s gallery filled with beautiful glass and pottery from local artists. As darkness prevailed, white lights illuminated each building, the trees and center square giving it a Thomas Kinkade quality that stole into my soul.

As the night chill descended we made our way to the restored Train Depot for a casual dinner punctuated by animated conversation about the kitchen project for the cottage. Stepping back into the cold evening air and glimmer of the Christmas lights we quickly ducked into the Biltmore Village Company store. It’s an eccentric little shop filled with unexpected decorative items such a leather camels, beautifully crafted sailing ships, weather vanes and oversized leather couches and chairs one would expect to find in a manor house library. Amid all this oddity, my purchase was a boring, practical, well-made, oversized umbrella with wooden handle.

Feeling energized and chilled near to the bone our last stop was the local Starbucks. Coffee shops are wonderful…filled with people, laughter and talk from every corner not to mention the aroma of coffee and baking. The shop was sampling powdered Christmas cookies, gingerbread and a heady Gingerbread Latte to drool for. Watching and listening as folks strolled in and out wrapped in their winter trappings, it was as if standing in the middle of a Hallmark greeting card.

Driving home under the watchful eye of the waxing crescent moon, twinkling stars and blowing leaves gave me time to absorb all the feelings that were swirling in my head and heart. Gazing into the night sky and feeling the love of the man next to me it was as if yesterday was a gift straight from Jim to guide me through this holiday season with true peace and, perhaps, even a measure of joy.

Move over Grinch...there's a new gal in town for Christmas this year...she may not be quite Cindy Lou Who...but an Outlaw with bells will work.

*from the song title by Keith Urban