My 83rd happy birthday

Today is my 83rd birthday and it has been boring on the outside, happy on the inside.

For various reasons, I couldn’t plan much. (Guests were going to arrive for my AirBnB suite, and I couldn’t be sure exactly when.)

And yet I’ve had a gorgeous day.

It starts well: I wake up. Yay!

First a trip to the supermarket: guests mean the fridge needs topping up with fruit for breakfast. I strike a particularly delightful checkout clerk who is talking cricket to the customer in front of me. I tell her, “It’s my birthday” — because basically I tell everyone I meet on my birthday that it is my birthday. Because otherwise, what a waste of a birthday. She says, “As long as you’ve got friends and family, that’s all that matters.” How right she is! And she is sorely tempted to hug me, so we do a virtual hug across the counter.

I’m about to leave the supermarket when I hear a squeaky voice yelling out, “Happy birthday! Here I am! Get me, get me!” and I realise it’s coming from a dazzling bunch of yellow and scarlet flowers. Birthday flowers if ever there were any. So I take it to the counter and I say to the man in front of me, “It’s my birthday. Would you please give me this bunch of flowers?” He plays along beautifully. “Happy birthday!” he says. And handed me the flowers with due ceremony. He says, “I’m a colour person myself,” and showed his bright green jacket and red backpack and shirt.

Then I pay for the flowers and go to an 8:30am business* meeting in a cafe close by. (*The business is inevitably admin stuff about fund-raising for my new play, The Secret Lives of Extremely Old People.)

I arrive a little early for the meeting. Before my friend arrives I manage to tell two other people that it’s my birthday and they wish me a happy birthday.

The meeting goes very well. Efficient, very useful, and friendly. And of course I get another “happy birthday!”

So the day goes. I get a Happy Birthday from four friends I meet on the street as I walk to a date with my daughter (and yummy yummy cakes and coffee at Myrtle cafe), from both shops where I choose to make a couple of birthday purchases, from my two AirBnB guests, from multiple family members on multiple devices (even actual conversations on the phone, some of them simultaneous), from multiple lovely friends on Facebook, and — I’ve lost count. Maybe altogether I’ve received 83 happy birthdays? I wouldn’t be at all surprised.

What I bought myself on my birthday

So yes, I’ve had a lovely 83rd birthday, thank you very much! Boring on the outside, happy on the inside.

A video of me saying exactly the same thing

PS In the video, for a few seconds you can see a pile of dirty laundry in the background. That’s because my washing machine broke last week and won’t be fixed for four more days. I’m looking forward to that.

After birthday, birthdusk

How little it takes to make me happy at this age! I didn’t bungee jump or run a marathon. I didn’t have a big party, just a wee party of two. I didn’t receive a Damehood (?) or a certificate of health. No bands, not even any dancing (maybe I’ll dance a little bit right now). But I’m very happy with the rush of “Happy birthday!” messages and hugs and everyday blessings. It’s a solid happiness based in normality. And in awareness of my privilege, when so many are suffering right now.

Next I’m going to watch on Netflix “The Story of My Family”, which also makes me happy. It’s a Japanese family drama featuring a pro-wrestler who is also the reluctant head of a Noh theatre family business. So many reasons to love it 🙂

Good night and thank you, everyone in my life. It’s a funny little life, but I love it.

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