Happy birthday to me!

It’s my birthday!

Yay, me! (People born under the astrological sign Leo have no problem celebrating themselves.)

I hear some people lie about their age to make themselves feel younger. Or to convince others that they are younger than they are. Many ignore their birthdays altogether or moan and groan about getting older.

Not me. It’s not that I am so brave or special. I just feel thankful that I have made it to another year while being healthy enough to hope I have a few more decades of fun and love ahead of me.

Both of my parents both died before they were 60. All four grandparents died before 70.

I am proud to say I am 67 and going strong. (The new knees help with that, I might add.)

I am spending this birthday Up North, as we say in Michigan. Up North is a destination not a direction in this state. My sister- and brother-in-law invited my husband and me to join them at their vacation rental near Cheboygan. We have a lovely view of Lake Huron and are relaxing in style in this luxury retreat. Last night we were treated to the Northern Lights, although I have to admit all I saw with my naked eye was fog. The photographers in our group took long-exposure pictures of the borealis, and they showed strong red and green lights in the sky.

Jeff and I plan to spend part of the day swimming at Cheboygan State Park, then we are off to a birthday dinner. Not very exciting to some but it sounds like heaven to me.

Birthdays in the part have been a mixed bag.

The first birthday party I remember was when I turned five. My mom threw a big party in the backyard, complete with games like pin the tail on the donkey and musical chairs. In one game, she tied a balloon to everyone’s foot and then we ran around, stomping on each other’s balloons. The person with the last inflated balloon won. Peter G. from two doors down stomped on my balloon, and I lost the game. Then I lost my sh&t. I cried; I screamed; I made a scene.

“The birthday girl is supposed to win every game!” I shouted.

I don’t remember my mother hosting any more birthday parties for me. It’s possible I don’t remember the rest because they didn’t contain the egotistical drama of that one.

For my 16th birthday, I was treated to dinner at a fancy restaurant. That’s when I learned that beef is pink in its uncooked state. I was flummoxed when the waiter asked how I wanted my steak cooked. Apparently “charcoal like my mother cooks it” was not an option. He had to explain the various levels of doneness to me. I played it safe with medium rare.

Turning 30 seems like a nonevent in the rearview mirror. It came and went.

Forty was a good year. I think I felt stronger and more secure at 40 than any other birthday. My children were doing well, I had reconciled myself with career versus motherhood, and physically I was as strong as I would ever be. I celebrated that year at Cub Scout camp with my boys and a couple dozen of their closest Scout buddies. As I recall, dinner was meat and potatoes in foil packets roasted over the fire. I had to buy my own cake, but the zeal with which the boys devoured it was worth it.

Fifty, on the other hand, was a mess. I bleached my hair blonde and discovered martinis. That’s the only birthday where I felt old.

But I never lied about how old I was at any age, and I’m not going to start now.

Thankfulness is the order of the day for this birthday. Thankful to be this old and still have all my faculties. Thankful for my new knees that enable me to hike and swim and enjoy this vacation. Thankful I can finally indulge in my writing yen. Thankful to Kim and Paul for allowing us to enjoy this fabulous vacation spot. Thankful my husband still thinks I’m still sexy. Whoo! It’s a good year, as Frank Sinatra might sing.

Happy birthday to me and my fellow Leos! Let the sun shine on us forever.

Update on the War For the Roses. My roses have sprouted some new leaves, so there is hope. I also discovered a fun new word in my study of soils: Spitzenkorper. Sounds like a Batman villain. I have this strong urge to use this in a story: The Day of the Spitzenkorper.