I made a pretty big deal out of turning 50. I threw myself a party and let Little ME be the center of attention. It was a grand time. Tomorrow will be a much quieter turn of the calendar page. I don't know why, just not feeling the whole party thing. That is not to say that I'm not digging a day of celebrating Merry Me. If you feel like singing happy birthday or raising a glass in my honor then please do. If you feel like sleeping in late or eating a piece of cake as part of my celebration, I say go for it. But what I'd really like is for you to smile at a stranger, leave an extra dollar in a tip jar, put a pretty flower on your desk, jump for joy, say a prayer for peace, dance a little, take a bubble bath, read a book, write a note to someone just to say hi, call your mother, or sister, or daughter, or someone you love more than life itself and tell them that, hold a baby, pet a cat, take a walk with a dog, see if you can still skip, have some ice cream, listen to some birds, take a photograph, stick your toes in the ocean, look for fairies, have a Coke, get a facial, polish your nails with a sparly shade of purple, color, talk to a child, and when the day is almost over go outside, look up and make a wish on the first star you see. Because, I think believe we are all connected in a way I can't begin to fathom, I also believe if you do any or all of these things for yourself or others, I will be blessed and know that I am celebrated.
It feels weird to have a birthday without having parents to share it with. My Dad used to shake his head at me as if I were a goof ball when I got all excited about a birthday - like after a certain age, say 6, one shouldn't need to draw attention to herself. But I remember 2 things that helped me keep on celebrating. One, was how excited Dad's mother, my grandmother, would get on her birthday. She lived to be 96 and I dare say she enjoyed her birthdays right up until she just couldn't enjoy anything anymore because of the pain she lived with. And the 2nd is that no matter how much my dad poopooed my childlike antics he got a kick out of them. I could tell by the way he smiled when he thought I wasn't looking. We had a lot of differences, my dad and I. But our hearts often spoke to each other in words neither of us could say.
I'm not done missing my parents. I wish they were here to see me blow out the candles on my cake. Since that isn't going to happen, I think I'll take some of my own advice and do a few things on that list above. Each time sending my eyes heavenward and giving thanks to the two who gave me life and the One that created the goofy, loving, worth celebrating girl I am.
May all your wishes come true,