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One Day And Counting

It is my year. I was born on two/fourteen and all my life, for good or sad, that has been the day.  The first party that my mother made for me I cried when all the little kids and their parents sang Happy Birthday to me around our dining room table.  It was too focused and I didn’t like it.

Over the years people would say, “Oh how nice, such a great day.”  And I would have my pat answer, “Not some of the years,” (When I was a lonely single mother.)  But that is really not the truth because my children or my women friends or sisters or my favorite auntie would always have something for me.

One year in graduate school I had dinner with one of my professors (on whom I had a terrific crush).  He often stayed overnight in town instead of driving back to Harvard after his evening class.  We made no mention of the holiday but during the dinner conversation I told him it was my birthday.   He said “Happy Birthday” and that was that.

Now on FB I get so many good wishes and I have a birthday week or month depending on how many of my friends want to spend some time with me.  This year, it so happens, that my day, two/fourteen, aligns with the year “two fourteen” and the stars, it seems.  Good things have begun to happen since the New Year, although I lost my driver’s license at the casino last night, but not my shirt!

(Mislaid this post in the net so I edited this last part to reflect changed time.)

For the day itself, I enjoyed those morning calls when my children try to see who is first.  It was my oldest.  Close friends and family chimed in during the day. I drove two hours ( ugh, the Boat Show in South Beach) to see an exhibit at The Museum of Erotica in Miami then to a writing class and home, exhausted while everyone else, I imagine, was treating their new or old or hopeful to some love.

My adored and adoring husband is still in Dominica and on Friday he dances at Fort Young,  socializing and drinking with friends buying ribs and black pudding for next day’s lunch.

February is now over and that’s usually the end of celebrating and buying birthday presents for myself.  Since its my year, I am in a quandary about how long to keep this up.  Then I take a deep breath.  Ham Sa.  As long as it lasts.

Voila Duba Day

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