Here’s how I’m spending my big day — and why I’m always honest about my age.
January 7th. Even though I was born decades ago, this date still puts a little spring in my step. I love birthdays, especially mine! It’s never been easy being so fast on the heels of Christmas and New Year’s, but the good news is that it’s always made the holidays feel like they lasted a week longer. Ringing in a new year also meant I’d soon be ringing in another trip around the sun.
January is a huge birthday month for my family. Carrie was born during “the storm of the century” on Jan. 5, 1996. Mine came two days later, and my late husband Jay was born on Jan. 9. My maternal grandmother, Clara Hene, was born on Jan. 8, 1898. John’s son Henry’s birthday is Jan. 11. My sister Clara (named after my grandmother) is Jan. 16. Molner rounds out the January celebrations on the 21st, which means he misses out on being the G.O.A.T. (Capricorn, that is) and came into the world in 1963, during the dawning of the Age of Aquarius. We are relieved that nobody’s birthday is on Jan. 6, for obvious reasons!
My mom always let me pick a special meal for my birthday. I remember one distinctly: spare ribs, broccoli, and baked potatoes with lots of butter and sour cream. My mom would make me a yellow cake with mocha frosting, which entailed putting Hershey’s chocolate syrup and some strong (instant!) coffee into buttercream frosting. I was in heaven.
I also remember one of my best birthday parties. We went to a movie called Maya with Jay North, who also played Dennis the Menace, and then came back and ate ice cream and cake around our dining room table. My mom bought all my friends little china figurines of African animals, the theme of the movie. I remember thinking how thoughtful my mom was, even though it was 1966 and I was turning 9.
That was 59 years ago. Yes, if you do the math, you know I am turning 68 today. I have never seen the point of lying about my age. Lucille Ball once said, “The secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age.” Meanwhile, Joan Collins was known to say, “Age is just a number, and mine is unlisted.” But I’m proud of the years I’ve spent on this planet. And because I lost both Jay and my sister Emily when they were just 42 and 54, respectively, I feel every year is a gift.
I do read the obituaries a little more closely these days. “Wow, he was just a year older than I am,” I’d think, shaking my head. Or, “Gosh, she was just 76. That’s less than a decade away.” Have more people died recently? Or am I just more attuned because many of these people are my generational kindred spirits?
In any event, it makes me more intent than ever to celebrate my birthday, and by extension myself. When else can you be so unabashedly self centered?
So I’m having coffee with a pickleball friend, having lunch with some girlfriends, gifting myself a massage, going for romantic dinner with Molner at a restaurant I saw on Instagram (I am seriously excited about their mocha soufflé…the ghost of birthdays past?), and then we are going to see Our Town on Broadway, one of my favorite plays that always makes me weep.
Since I’m finally feeling better after being down and out for 10 days (which made for a very disappointing holiday — the saddest part is I couldn’t hold and cuddle my grandson for fear of getting him sick, for which I’d never forgive myself), I’m ready to enjoy some quality time with people I love. Whenever I bemoan getting older, my six-years-younger husband says, “Remember, you’re never going to get any younger.” In other words, enjoy the age you are.
I’m sure in a few years, I’ll be saying, “Gee, if only I were 68 again!” This year, I’m reminding myself what Emily Dickinson said: “We turn not older with years, but newer every day.” A few years later, Sammy Hagar said something very similar: “Every year on your birthday you get to start anew.” (Do you think Sammy plagiarized?) In any event, here’s to a new year, a new me, and appreciating not just every birthday, but every single day.
