Did he know something I didn't? Was the Publishers Clearing House Prize Patrol going to arrive at 9:00, and the dear man wanted to make sure I answered the door? Well, now I know that wasn't it, as it's now 9:09 and the only vehicle here has been the recycling pick-up. Oh, I've been up for hours, thanks to that beep-ing timer, so how have I spent my birthday so far?
The dog and I have a highly technical routine. After my husband leaves, she returns to bed and attempts to lie on top of my legs. She's only a 24 pound dog - should be 20, but we've both gotten a bit matronly. Still, place that little compact body on top of you and it feels like a ton. So as usual I got up and we let the cats out, filled up a canister with bird seed and peanuts for the squirrels and headed out to the feeders. I was treated to the visual of three squirrels looping up into the air as they sprinted off the feeders - where they'd been making a mess - and sprinted up the birches while performing even more astonishing acrobatic feats.
The shrub Jays began screeching, but I sort of like it now, and I must admit that my appearance causes a great amount of twittering of the real kind, from wonderful little finches, chickadees, juncos and a few thrushes. The doves are ground feeders and will wait for me to round the corner, but the robins will follow behind me as I water. They not only appreciate a nicely mowed lawn (thanks, dear), but a half-drowned worm is easy prey.
It's been a bad year for gardening in the northwest - it broke all the records by raining over 6 inches in June - and the veggie plot looked more like a giant fish pond than anything else. The garden has usually been in for at least a month by now, but my husband didn't put in the tomato plants until this past weekend. Our garden will be a third its usual size, but maybe we'll be able to keep it weeded this year. Oh, so we probably won't, but we'll still get tomatoes.
Like two of my children, my husband only listens to my advice after he has found a more reliable secondary source. Usually, he credits them with whatever he decides to do. In this case, it was how to plant the tomatoes. For those of you who are new to urban farming, here's a hint. All those tiny little hairs on the tomato stem are potential roots. If you want a sturdy, healthy, plant and a bountiful tomato crop from each plant, get out your shovel. After you amend the soil, dig a really deep hole and plant as much of that fuzzy stem under ground as you can, even if it is half the plant. I just learned that this year myself, and we've been growing tomatoes for 18. Suddenly everybody else knows it too, which makes you wonder if they fiendishly concealed the technique. Okay, so I don't always have a Pollyanna mentality and can be cynical even on my birthday, too.
Anyway, my new duty since Sunday is to water the veggie garden. I have container pots everywhere this year - fingerling potatoes in a trash can container, sweet peas in a giant pot, herbs scattered in ugly little pots everywhere - and they have to be watered daily or they'll dry out even faster than the garden. We trimmed, edged, mowed, weeded and power-washed everything over the weekend - we have the back patio to do next - so it looks bright and lovely for my birthday. I know it sounds silly, but that pleases me enormously, even if it is only the Fedex guy who gets to enjoy it with us.
Usually I have two modes with the my dog - on the leash or in the house - but today I was feeling all glowy towards her. She's an old bitch too, and such a darling, funny dog. I hate it that the hair around her muzzle and eyes has turned white. It used to look like she had Cleopatra style eyeliner and her gaze was so intense. She's a sweet smooth-haired fox terrier, which is similar to a Jack Russell, but without the insanity or the "It's all mine! Mine! Mine! GRRRRRRRR!" mentality. Truthfully, my muzzle seems to be turning a little 'blond', although my granddaughter has warned me about letting my hair ever get white.
It was last year and she and her mom watched one sitcom together. The themes were often a bit adult, if comedic, but my daughter loves the actress America and when my daughter is laughing it is a beautiful thing. The little one was in kindergarten at the time, and I must have given her advice (my biggest, irritating and obnoxious reflex behavior), so she felt compelled to reciprocate. We have a lovely and enduring friendship.
"Oh, Grandma," she said with drama. "Don't ever let your hair get white!"
"Why not?" I asked, mildly amused by the concept.
"Because if you do, you can fall over dead just like that!" To emphasize the point, she loudly clapped her hands together like a thundercap.
"Well, don't worry, darling. Your Grandma will never have white hair," I reassured her, "but how did you know that?"
"Oh, I saw it on Ugly Betty," she said. "The grandpa had a heart attack and just fell over dead. Boom."
You never know what she's going to say next. Now she's seven and confided that she 'really wants one of her paintings to be in a museum when she grows up. She is also telling me the difference between 'realistic' art and 'surreal'. Okay, so she didn't use that word, and said, "unrealstic", but it was impressive just the same. I wish I could see her today, but I always wish I could see her and I do often. I felt the same way about her cousin and now I feel that way about her baby brother who turns seven months old tomorrow.
He is about as delightful a baby as I have ever seen if you like nothing but grins, animated cooing and babbling, and a baby that burrows into your neck like a little puppy or immediately calms if you sing, "Swing low, sweet chariot" even with all the same first verse lyrics. Big sister thinks 'rock-a-bye baby' is too grisly for a baby, so that tune has vacated my repertoire.
My other granddaughter is grown up. She was a true gift from my stepdaughter, whom I also adore. My vanity makes me say that, as our third daughter is only 12.5 years younger than me and so having a 19 year old bio-granddaughter would make me feel as ancient as I am. Then again, how many people are lucky enough to know their non-bio-grandchildren from birth and their non-bio-children from adolescence? I was given a little experience without really having enough of a toolbox, but I don't think I did too much damage. (That's for parents to do, after all, isn't it?) I couldn't love either of them anymore, which makes me so lucky, doesn't it? I think I love the girls as much as I do because they are all so much like my husband in all his good traits. Brains, a sense of family, animal-lovers, politically engaged... and did I say smart? Actually, I meant brilliant. Oh, and the girls all have his amazingly thick, wavy hair - true movie star locks. Honestly, they don't have a bad hair day... ever. Oh, I think my grandson will have grandpa's hair too, as it is already looking pretty wavy and he has the telltale widow's peak.
So back to my birthday and me - you can tell I am crazy about the descendants - I let the dog roam all around the yard while I did my mini-chores. How I enjoyed the gentle breezes lifting the tree branches with that delicious soft rustling I equate to angel wings. I felt surrounded by mother nature in all her perfect glory and feel a sort of spirituality as I am so serene and at peace here.
I watched the beautiful cedar waxwings pluck cherries off the tree above me.There were ten or twelve robins patiently waiting for me to finish watering the crumbly garden soil while they anticipated dessert. I felt gratitude for the warm sun, the sounds of the forest below that traveled on the wind and wondered how it was possible to feel so good and be so old.:)
Needing to make my latte, I called the dog. As is our custom, I began to wipe off her feet before we went into the house. My lovely little Cosette had celebrated my birthday too. In fact, I'm sure she thought her lovely new fragrance, eau de dead carcass, would be a giant hit. So I picked up the smelly creature and as soon as I took off her collar she began to quiver with terror. My husband will be delighted that I bathed her, as usually he takes care of the pets.
My son gave his dad a print a few years ago called, "Dog rolling in dead squirrel", so I recognize this is a universal experience. Dogs feel more powerful the smellier they are, and let' face it. What is more rancid than rotting mouse intestines? In spite of the 'single-lady-with-cats' prejudices, this canine instinct may be the secret reason most women don't have a dog.
After being scrubbed down and dried off, the dog suddenly remembered the bathing ritual always ends with a treat. She began dancing on her hind feet. Yes, it was incredibly cute, so I opened the bathroom door. She shot out like a leaping antelope and flew throughout the house, making sharp turns as effortlessly as a race car driver. When she had exhausted herself and began panting, she sat on the kitchen rug. As the stare down began, I toyed with the idea of making her 'behave'. Instead I tossed the milkbone, which she caught in mid-air.
What are we doing tonight? Nothing, really. I'll probably cook something light, like fish, because I don't think it's appropriate to make a big birthday dinner for yourself. (Too many dishes and pans!) My husband hates to eat out, so that won't happen. On a weekend, he might barbecue for me, but he really hates being forced to eat out during the week. If any of you share a birthday around a major holiday, you can probably empathize with me. My birthday is June 29th and the 4th of July is usually celebrated sometime between the 2nd and the 6th. Many people are out of town so there's no reason to have a party. Who'd come? Oh, yes, I know I have children. One of them drives to see her in-laws, which is a good six hours. Sometimes she stops on the way back, by going out of her way, which is sweet.
My son won't visit if his sister's not here, as she would never forgive him, so that is out too. Our oldest daughter has a family, and family things on the fourth with younger kids entail fireworks and all kinds of barbecues. Who could expect them to fly up when the weather in California is so sublime? When the fourth comes around, wouldn't there be something wrong with them if they thought, "Fourth of July! Wow. Let's celebrate with Mom/Grandma and have a birthday party for her!" Honestly, I just can't imagine it.:) They have their own lives now and that's good. If I finish my work early enough - I might quit early just to celebrate - I am going to paint. That's my passion these days. I guess I'm older and becoming more interested in private time and more introverted than I thought.
I haven't decided if I'll paint an adorable mallard and her ducklings, or two baby rhinos I imagined touching noses. I really would like to paint my oldest granddaughter with a tutu cast aside, as she puts on soccer shoes sitting on her bed. I can imagine it, but I'm not very good without a photograph to work from, so the latter idea has been rolling around in my head for months. I want to create sort of an heirloom painting for each of the grandkids, although I am just starting to work with watercolors. Except for sentimental reasons, who knows whether they'll even want my paintings. My middle daughter thinks I should stick with birds and berries. (Her favorite painting of mine obviously is one I did of a cedar waxwing on a branch with berries all around. It is pretty and looks sort of Asian in theme.)
Oh, no one used to forget my birthday because I always obsessed about how old I was getting. That was when I was in my twenties, thirties and ... well, let's just say I lost interest in my own birthdays a few years ago. At a certain point it is about cultivating humility, moving off center stage and being cognizant of the fact that the ingenue parts are no longer for you. My realization that I was simply a little temporary stardust was also post-cancer, which nobody I know ever wants me to talk about. It freaks them out, and I suppose that's normal. Who wants to think about somebody going through a dreadful treatment that took a year or two from which to recover?
But for me, it is a little difficult to forget, as I still have some side effects and a wheelbarrel full of gratitude. In fact, the day I was diagnosed was also our 24th wedding anniversary, so how can I celebrate one without being grateful that I am now counting years of survival on 2 hands?
The loveliest thing about this year has been our children. One has done more for us than I could ever post here and I will be eternally grateful for knowing and loving her. She is like deep water, lush, beautiful and powerful and to continue the metaphor, as loyal as the tide.
I am so fortunate even though life has not been easy, it has been amazing. I never expected anyone to help me in my life, based on my early childhood. How wonderful that my expectations were exceeded. Certainly I am not very different from anyone else. We all have our trials, our tragedies, our emergencies, our joys and our triumphs. Not everyone is lucky enough to have children or grandchildren either. I have both.
Frankly, I am grateful just to be around. I have a job, insurance, a good man, children who care about the world and grandchildren who are amazing humans already. I even have a few great friends, long-term and new, and I still feel passionate when writing or painting. I care about the world, I volunteer my time for worthy causes and I stay politically engaged and active. And today my three, beautiful cats will hopefully get that adorable little vole that has just made its second nest attempt in our barbecue.
Good God, it's a beautiful life! I hope I remember how good I feel today, tomorrow. Peace and love, friends. Not much else matters.
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