First of all, let me say that birthday-with-Facebook is a whole lot busier than birthdays-before-Facebook. I spent a good chunk of the day sending virtual thank-you notes. Not that I am complaining, mind you; it is lovely to be remembered and celebrated. And there were some great text messages as well.
Fourthborn: Verily forsooth wench, Moose and I wisheth thee a happy birthday.
Me: I thank thee both most graciously and heartily, forsooth!
LittleBit: Hey dangerous tomato happy birthday. Word to my mother
Me: Thank you, my child with the King Cake hair! BTW Trainman will be @ the party tomorrow night.
LittleBit: Whoo we will see you tomorrow
[I knew the only thing that would drag them away from Scarbie today would be a chance to finally meet the elusive Trainman.] Scarbie = Scarborough Faire, the local and most excellent Renaissance festival. This is the time of year when the song of the bagpipe is heard throughout the land, and real men wear kilts, and there are belly dancers and codpieces and sword fights, oh my!
The funeral yesterday was simply beautiful. The chapel was full, ditto the overflow and most of the cultural hall. The music was exquisite. One of my young friends and her friend sang a duet. Lovely.
What? you mean you don’t customarily attend funerals on your birthday? Well, neither do I, and I certainly hope this is not part of the new normal, but I am thankful that I went. Afterward, I saw so many friends from my old ward and stake.
I picked up a pair of black full-soled ballet slippers at the dance shoppe in Arlington. By the time the funeral was over, and I had hugged everybody I wanted to hug, I was ready to go dancing. However, it was nowhere near time to head over to the dance, so I came home and listened to part of the audiobook while my phone charged. And then I went to Lucile’s with an honest to goodness paperback and my knitting. The lobster bisque was calling my name.
I sent NintendoMan a quick email before I left, mostly impressions of the funeral, with a side order of missing-him. I told him that it was probably just as well that he was away on business and I was here, because for the first time in my life, I understand why married couples go home after a funeral and make love. [It has little to do with lust, I think, and is more a reflection on the need for reassurance and connection.]
I just really, really wanted to be held. But there will be lots of hugs today, and good food, and great memories made. I am blessed.
The dance was fun, too. More great visits, more great hugs, decent music to dance to. Although Brother Sushi and a mutual friend ambushed me, just as I was putting on my street shoes to leave, by having the DJ play the Beatles’ birthday song, while I stood in the middle of the dance floor and several of my girlfriends played a ragged game of Ring-Around-the-Rosie around me.
I’ll get you, my pretty. And your little dog too...
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!