28 Years Later

Don't worry: that is not a scene from my birthday party.

Judging by the tone of some of the birthday cards I got yesterday I am supposed to feel horrible about my age -- lament the inevitable and complain every year about the newly sagging body part, laugh line, gray hair. The truth is, though, despite rapidly approaching thirty, I don't feel that way.

Yesterday was an absolute barrage of love and well-wishes, so much so that at one point the phone rang (again) and Tara quipped, "It's your hotline!" For my birthday I got a chunky handful of cards, some moola, several emails, two mixed cds, four dozen tulips, many phone calls and almost -- almost -- a message of human-imitating-dog-barking "Happy Birthday To You." Generator, I expect you to pull out all of the stops for 29. Just saying.

Tara and I went out for dinner for the second most expensive dinner we've ever had at Del Raye in Northampton. As appetizers we ate fresh mussels in garlic broth and argula salad with pears and broiled goat cheese and honey toasts. For supper Tara ate 16-spice grilled chicken with purple mashed potatoes while I enjoyed parsley crusted cod with leeks and lobster mashed potatoes. After finishing a bottle of wine, we ordered a berry-stuffed crepe with fresh whipped cream and pomagranates. Y. U. M. M. Y. If I was another woman, I might cry at tasting how good it was.

If I get all of this love and attention for my birthday, how could I possibly be angry at the new laugh line by my right eye? How could I really be angered by the stray gray hair I found a few weeks ago.

The truth is I feel overwhelmingly, wholeheartedly, and fatastically blessed and loved. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.