My birthday was March 30.  I became seventy-eight years old. 

I could be depressed.  After all, I found a couple of new spots and/or bumps, and I think I got a couple new pains.  Or, it could be that same pain that randomly moves around my body, settling in new spots, as if it’s trying out a new home.  

“Oh, let’s try her knee today, even though she replaced it.  Ha-ha.  Fooled her.”

They never get bored with my back.  They set up camp until I get an epidural, and then they go on hiatus for about three months.

This year, as in many others, I heard from family members and friends and friends of friends.  I haven’t had the heart to throw out my cards yet because they revive me and buoy my spirits.

My granddaughter, Maddy, signed her and her mother’s card with love and said, along with the love note which is too personal to show you, “…thank you for putting up with me!”  She’s been home schooling throughout the pandemic, and we actually got along pretty well, all things considered. Especially if I gave her whatever she needed, whenever she needed it.

Her mom, my daughter, Janet, fixed breakfast for me before she went to work that day.  Her presentation wasn’t entirely gracious, and I won’t tell you how she called me to breakfast, but it was not out of character, and I love her for it.

My friend, Sandi, sent me such a pretty card with spring flowers on it.  Of course, I did not send her one the week before because I forgot her birthday, even though we had spent the day together at the arboretum that same week.  Sometimes I’m a dunderhead, but Sandi keeps coming back and planning outings for the two of us.  She’s a remarkable woman.

This forgetfulness is not really an age thing.  It’s an all-my-life-thing.  Deep down, I think I was rebelling  against  my mother, who never, ever forgot a birthday, anniversary, or tragedy.  I couldn’t match her memory, so I just let everything go and didn’t try.  When I can’t remember some date or fact of family history, I still think, “Oh, I’ll call Mom.  She’ll remember.”  She died fifteen years ago.  And no, I didn’t forget that.

Another friend, Marianne, sent me a card that had some advice: To stay young, the doctor said to exercise and eat the right foods.  I read “accessorize and buy nice shoes.”  I like that interpretation much better, and it is SO Marianne.

Marianne and I don’t care about the “right foods.”  We just like to eat and before the pandemic shared some meals.  She, of course, is tiny and never seems to put on weight.  Guess what I do?

Nancy and Doyle sent me a card with a flower-child VW camper on it.  The wish is that we can get together again like we used to, before the Pandemic (BTP).  BTP, we would meet in Morro Bay about twice a year.  They are low-maintenance friends, the best kind.

Brother Frank and wife Janice sent a 50’s looking card with a Father-Knows-Best housewife on the front. “Holy $#@%” it says.  I believe that’s a reference to my age.  Just guessing. It’s shocking to me, too.

Brother Craig and his wife, Grace, sent me a 3D card of a bakery shop. It’s so cute.  I’m not sure I can throw it away.  His message was nicer now than in the past.  He’s decided to treat me more kindly now that I’m THIS OLD.  My age is no longer funny.  It’s deadly serious.  I think he should go back to being mean.

Sister, Karen, and brother-in-law, Dick, both wrote notes in my cute cupcake card.  The card was mailed from Yachats, Oregon.  I’ve been up and down the Oregon coast, but I don’t remember that one. They’ve been on the road a lot this past year.  Sometimes I’m jealous, but mostly? I’m happy for them.

They face-timed me the night of my birthday, and it was SO wonderful to see them.  They were sitting outside their trailer somewhere in Oregon.  Warm feelings felt all around.

I got many messages on Instagram.  My daughters shared my birthday with their friends, many of whom I know, and they just lit up Instagram with wishes for me.

Jo, who has been my friend since high school*, sent me a card with jewels in a crown and a scepter for the “Birthday Queen.”  The note inside made me cry a little because it was so touching.  We’ve been through a lot together.  Haven’t seen each other for over a year.  I hope we can remedy that soon.  

*We learned the Alfalfa Language — in Algebra class as high school freshmen. Not too smafart.

My daughter, Katie had us over for dinner on my day – delicious by the way – and gave me a card with an adorable dog on it that kind of resembled her dog, Ricky, a chihuahua, or was it me it resembled?  Her husband, Brendan, waited on me and Larry as if we were royalty, which, of course was entirely appropriate.

Speaking of appropriateness, perhaps the most appropriate card is one that has a gorilla on the front, picking his nose.  The message is “Celebrate like no one’s watching!”  It’s from my special cousins, Shelley and Stefanie and their mom, my Aunt Rosie.  

I got a sweet card – it’s never nasty – from Aunt Marie and Uncle Jerry, 89 and 90, respectively. They moved the Virginia to be closer to their daughter, and I miss them terribly, although we talk on the phone a lot.

I felt like I was glowing that day.  Nothing like an abundance of love to buoy you up.

Of course, my washing machine over-flowed the next three days just to bring me back to earth, but who cares when you have family and friends like I do.  

Maybe I won’t throw my cards away this year.  I’ll savor them for a few days more.

Happy Birthday to Me!