Yesterday was my birthday. Happy to say I didn't really have the hideous run-up depression I usually get every year as the day approaches; I just slid into this one. After hemming and hawing about whether I should call out, I went to work like I would any Friday morning - though I did wear a nicer shirt than normal; tea-colored linen. G and I walked together and talked and talked. (on Friday mornings we get to walk to work together, now; it's the only time in our workweek when we start at the same time.) During the day I did my work, my phone buzzing in pocket all day from all the lovely birthday greetings I was getting on Facebook.
(Say what you will about Facebook - and it is quite capable of sucking out huge segments of your daily life - the ease with which we can all be kind to each other there is a pretty damned lovely thing. And as much as I wrestle with my evil birthdays, if I were honest, I'd have to admit that I really do want a right regular outpouring of affection on that particular day. I do want to get that rush of knowing I'm appreciated or even loved. And then being able to send that affection and show of appreciation in the other direction, too. As childish as it is to wait until that 365th day of the year to tell someone they're special, I really do enjoy wishing someone a happy birthday. Saying, I really like and/or love you - thank God you were born, eh? And I don't think the ease of doing that on Facebook cheapens the gesture at all. With all of that said, after the much-appreciated love-fest of yesterday's birthday greetings, I'm practically jonesing today; doesn't anyone love me today?!)
When G and I got home, I puréed the strawberries we got at the farmer's market the day before, poured the gorgeous ruby-red mixture into glasses, and topped it with good champagne. Then I got to open my cards and my wee presents from G. (We aren't really supposed to give each other b-day presents, but I already broke the rules at her birthday, last month, so....) G's pretty lousy at keeping a secret, so I'd already guessed what my gift would be.
A few weeks ago, we bought up a large number of DVDs from a video store that was closing. We had brought in a list ahead of time - at their suggestion - and got almost all that we'd asked for. One of the few we didn't was Fellini's "8 1/2", and I vocally lamented that fact. So, when it became obvious what variety of present was coming - G said to ignore a package if it came and, when it did come, I found the Amazon box at the mailbox - I was pretty sure I knew what it was. But yesterday, there were two little wrapped, DVD-shaped presents. I had guessed right about "8 1/2" - yay! - but the other was a total surprise. "Babette's Feast", a movie we both adore but hadn't remembered to put on that list until it was too late. As our best, most frequent entertainment is watching movies in bed while eating yummies, what movie could be better? An inspired surprise, G!
Then we went across the street, sat outside, and had a lovely dinner. I won't go into all the evening's entertainments but, later - too late, as it turned out - I wanted to play with one of my new toys, as it were, and we decided to watch "8 1/2". About half-way through we both started to droop and drowse. Even the intervention of the chocolate dessert we'd brought home from the restaurant didn't help. We're both very ashamed of ourselves, but we had to turn in and go to sleep. (Oh, how we hate it when that happens!) We have seen it before, several times, but still we owe a big scusi to Fellini and his masterpiece.
[That was not exactly the most dramatic tale - fairly dull to read, I'm guessing - but I certainly enjoyed living it. My day. My life.]
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