Surprised by Joy

We count age in funny ways. An infant is measured in days, then weeks, then months. Turning 1 is a big deal. Actually, when you're a kid, every birthday is a big deal. I still remember being just gobsmacked when I turned 10, walking around thinking "I'm a decade old" and feeling the weight, in a good way, of such a momentous achievement. But it starts to slow down. 16 is a big deal because you can drive. 18 because you can vote. 21 because you can legally buy beer. And then it slows down even more. It becomes largely about the 0 birthdays. The inbetween time, not so much. Turning 50 was, you'll recall, a big deal, with a 2 day party and a party dress and people like JP flying in from all over to celebrate. And it was an excellent celebration.

But as a rule, I don't go into a birthday with huge expectations. I like my birthday and it always feels special, but I don't care that there be any fuss. I count on a card from ChouChou (who's very faithful that way) and the 8:05am call from Dame Judi (equally faithful). I counted on my birthday dinner of weinerschnizel and spaetzle from The Spouse, until Seattle became too politically correct and it became impossible to find veal cutlets anywhere. So now I count on my birthday dinner of chicken parmesan. But that's all. I don't need cards and presents and emails.

So I was delightfully surprised by yesterday. The flow of fun messages on Facebook began early in the day. Then I got to work and MAB presented me with a breakfast of (unbelievably delicious) quiche Lorraine and a pear tart, with fresh coffee. Then she gave me a cute joke gift, followed by the most spectacular pair of rainboots you ever saw. (So spectacular that they will demand their own post, as soon as I get the picture my friend Kim took of me wearing them). There was a gift from my favorite social worker & cards from my favorite house guests. My favorite volunteer came by with Jonas Brother balloons. Kim gave me a superfantastic wine glass that is really more art than dishware. And at 2 o'clock we had pie.

At home I got a delightful phone call from my Poodle, The Neighbor made me a delicious celebratory cocktail and The Spouse delivered with the chicken parm.

It was a very fun day, all the more so because I didn't expect it. And it is, let's face it, just a very nice thing to be celebrated by your friends, to be shown that it matters to others that you were born. And it made me feel, yet again, extremely grateful for all the amazing people who come into my life and stay awhile.

Sometimes I feel so blessed I don't even know what to do with myself. Thank you God, for my amazing friends. Thank you, amazing friends, for your love.

Just a Moment

Yesterday we made an appearance at a party for my namesake, Hilary Lorraine. Twas a celebration of her graduation (in December) from university. Lorene (her mother) and I were talking about the kids and marvelling at how they were so grown but that truly, we didn't look that much older. Certainly we don't feel that much older. We are just as sassy and funny and interesting and hip as we were over 30 years ago when we all first met in college, before any of those children populating the other room were even thought of, let alone conceived.

(30 years. That's a whole entire adult person. That sounds old but I will maintain that it is not. Because to consider the alternative is, well, just not something I am interested in doing, thankyouverymuch).

Anywrinkle, there we were. I will grant you this: we are softened with time, rounder where we used to be more angular. But that's certainly a far cry from touring assisted living facilities. There's youth and vigor in us yet and it was in the spirit of that, of the possibilities still opening up for us even as we watch them unfold for our children, which had us in the kitchen marvelling. It really happened only in a moment, glancing into the living room watching them framed by the kitchen door. They were, the three of them, conducting themselves like, well, like grownups, chatting amiably in clusters of guests. There was Hilary the graduate and Max who has turned into a young man and the baby of them all, The Child. The Child who is now taller than Hilary, who glanced at Max from time-to-time in that way that young women can't help but do when they are in the room with a tall, good-looking boy...the baby who is, today, 15 years old.

Ha! See? Just made you feel old, didn't I?

Something I Find Really Amusing

In my job I have occasion to encounter a whole lot of people from a whole lot of walks of life. That in itself is quite something. But you just wouldn't believe how many people, in the course of a conversation, will look at me and say, "Of course, you're too young to know anything about this but...", followed by a reference to, oh, I don't know, life before cell phones or watching Armstrong walk on the moon or whatever.

Given that I am 51 years old today, I find that pretty frakking hysterical.

At this time I would like to thank my parents, Sean Connery and Dame Judi Dench, for their superfantastic genes. (They don't look their age, either).

I would also like to wish a happy birthday today to my darling MN Fan, Jane, and to the always delightful Bruce Springsteen.

A Couple Quick Announcements

The Spouse just emailed to say that "Fortune Hunters" is now on iTunes and sweetly asked that I please "pimp" that fact here. Consider yourself pimped.

Also, a certain someone who I love very much (and call "Poodle") tried to slip his birthday past us. Now, he may be one of those people who doesn't care to make a big deal about his birthday. That is his right. But since I like making a big deal about birthdays, I'm going to celebrate. Go on over...I've basically highjacked the comments section of his post for today...and show him some love.

(Where did I leave the cake cutter...)

Lots of Recaps

Life Recap:

I have to order a leg of lamb. I also have to find the really spectacular menu that The Spouse and I developed for Carnevale, which is Saturday night. Yum. There will be 15 of us around the table. That's a big lamb.

This week is Catholic Schools Week, which for The Child means all sorts of dressing up and hooha. Today, for example, is Pajama Read-in Day. Everyone, even the teachers, go to school in their jammies, bring a pillow and stuffed animal and they spend most of the day on the floor reading whatever they want. (Harry Potter II in The Child's case, fyi). Yesterday was Laffy Taffy Day, where everyone was supposed to wear as mismatched and crazy an outfit as they could manage. This is what The Child looked like:


SOTU Recap:

Obama wore a gray tie. Bold move. I was surprised, but I liked it.

Clinton never once cracked a smile that I could tell. She looked very unimpressed.

Nancy Pelosi's hair is AWESOME. Have you seen her new do? Golly Moses, she looked hot. I wonder if she discovered my perfect little hair person. I wish she woulda flipped her hair last night.

Dick Cheney gives me the pips.

No one got bingo...came close but I'm a stickler. If the card reads "stimulus package" and the President calls it a "growth package" it's a no go. Same with "global warming" vs. "climate change". Oh well. It was fun and the best part is that it engages The Child. I think it is very important that she listen to the State of the Union address. It's part of being an informed citizen.

Even if you hate the person delivering the speech, even if it sounds like a fairy tale, you gotta do it. (And wasn't it a fairy tale? I kept responding, "That would be so awesome if any of your policies actually went toward accomplishing that". Idiot.)

But hey, you know what the really good news is? That is the last time we ever have to listen to a SOTU by Shrub. And next year, when the Sergant at Arms announces, "Madame Speaker, members of Congress, The President of the United States", the person who walks down the aisle to the rostrum is going to be a Democrat. I just feel it. And probably best of all, the person seated next to Madame Speaker is NOT going to be Dick Cheney. What a relief.

Dream Recap:

Last night I dreamt that I flew really close to the moon and could see the space station sitting on it. It was so cool, until I woke up and realized that there isn't a space station on the moon.

Brain Tumor Recap:

It's gone. Thank you for your concern.

Birthday Recap:

The High School Musical party was a smash. Hotdogs and chips for HSM I,and ice cream cake for HSM II

The HSM messenger bag was a big hit. We're getting her a laptop. She cried.

Hard to believe The Child is 14. And yes, she's still The Child. No matter how old she gets, she's still my baby and nothing will change that. This is a lesson I learned early, long before I was a mother. Once I was visiting my Grandma with the folks. Dame Judi had been out in the garden with her dad. When she came into the house G'ma called out, "Did you wipe your feet, Judi?"

I looked at my mother with astonishment. Here was a grown woman, mother of 4 grown children, a grandmother herself and G'ma asked if she'd wiped her feet. "You're always your mom's child, aren't you?" I asked. "Yep," DJ replied. So there you have it. Years from now I'll be vlogging about her wedding and still be calling her The Child. That's just the way it is, my puppies.

Addiction Recap:

I have been playing Sims2 like a crazy person. I have this one family, the Patton-Eisenhowers. They are amazing. 4 kids and Elinor is pregnant with their 5th. Meanwhile, their eldest, Jacqueline, has become an adult, got married to Kennedy Obama-Clinton and just gave birth to baby Erin. Meanwhile, both Bradley and Elinor are about to turn into Elders, which scares me because then they'll die and I've become very attached to them. Plus, Caroline is about to turn into an adult, with Julia not far behind. I'm afraid that Bradley and Elinor will die before little John has become a teenager, not to mention what's going to happen to the new baby (who will probably be born today).

You don't care, do you. Pft.

Multi-media Alert:

Tonight is the premiere of the Iwanski/Winter show over on Bosky Radio West. I'm so excited that I can hardly stand it. It's gonna be huge, people, and finally the name of Iwanski will be a household word, as well it should be. Tune it, 7pm Central time. Show the Iwanski some love.

Time for Another Steaming Cuppa

Crap.

I know it is winter. I know that it is around about this time that contagion flourish and people succumb to same. But it always annoys me when I get sick right around this time, which I do just about every other year, what with it being the weekend of The Child's birthday and arrangements needing to be made. Lord, one year...I think it was her 5th birthday...I was so sick that I had to call her godmother to help. I muddled through and as soon as her party was over I took to my bed. Later I was watching video of the party and I was all, "They were there?" and "That happened?" and "God-dad played his bagpipes?" I barely remembered a thing. That's sick.

This isn't that sick but it's day two of a brain tumor plus all the snorting afflictions I've been coping with all week and I'm in a right foul mood about it, let me tell you.

At least my hair is awesome.

Point is, must muddle through and accomplish one or two things before returning to the sanctuary of my bed, including devising some sort of decoy gift because the laptop she's getting for her present hasn't actually been ordered yet. I did pick up those High School Musical socks for her yesterday...

No, she doesn't read my blog.

Crazy, right? If you were 14 and your mom had a blog wouldn't you totally be checking it out to see what she was saying about you? Me too! The Child, apparently, did not get our paranoid gene.

Also, and this has nothing to do with anything, but I'm about ready to start slapping people. Hillary and Barack are both pissing me off and they'd better knock it off and get back to the issues. In other political news, I saw part of the Republican debate last night and would just like to say that Mitt Romney still makes my skin crawl.

Right. Here's a little song. Has nothing to do with anything. I just like it. And dang, is that Sling on the bass? Dude! Cool jacket. Do you still have the number for the drummer? He's cute.




The American Breed "Bend Me, Shape Me"

Party, Party, Party

Friday was the school Halloween carnival.

I was a goth witch.

I had a minion.

The party was fun, especially the Hall of Horrors, wherein I was the Swamp Witch and made kids cry. But my favorite part of the evening was when I went outside to yell at all the kids who were too cool to be inside at the carnival. I adore yelling at other people's kids. I really do.

Saturday was all about The Spouse's 50th birthday party, which was a Rat Pack theme. The food was plates full of retro yumminess like Chex mix, relish tray (huzzah for baby gherkins), mixed nuts (which could also apply to the guests), and the things I took pictures of:

Cheese Ball with Triscuits

Stuffed Mushrooms

Devilled Ham Pinwheels (the Neighbor made these).

Pigs in a BlanketRumaki (the kind with water chestnuts because I'm not a fan of the chicken liver unless someone else has reduced it to a nice little pate with good mouth feel). Credit where credit is due, this was The Child's contribution.We had apple pie because The Spouse is not a huge fan of the cake and he does love him some apple pie.I made 3 pies. What a shame. There was 1 1/2 left over. Shame, shame. Or as I like to call it, "breakfast".

Because it was a Rat Pack-y theme, The Neighbor and I wore lacquered do's:

Sometimes I think we are just the cutest things on God's green earth.

Also, as history has long borne out, an upswept do is the perfect perch for a tiara.

There were gifts. Mostly single malt scotch, because when in doubt with The Spouse, that's the way to go. The key exception to this gift-giving theme came from The Boys, who are now The Spouse's favorite people in the world EVER. They gave him an iPod nano. He almost cried.

You know what stinks? Aside from the fact that he is now using possession of same to torture The Child? The stinkiest part of the stench is that I had been desperately casting about from some grand gesture, like the one he'd pulled off for my birthday, and I couldn't come up with anything. So when The Boys asked me if he'd like an iPod I should have said, "Oh, darn, I'm already giving him one. Get him some scotch" and stolen the idea but I am apparently not that devious as I only figured this out last night. Dammit.

I gave him scotch.

Anyway, a pleasant time was had by all. There was the requisite blowing out of candles

and midnight toasting

and now I'm just very thankful that we don't have to have 2 big back-to-back blow out celebrations for another 10 years.

Birthday Treats

Sling couldn't make it to my birthday party but he promised he'd be there in spirits, and by "spirits" I mean, he promised to design a cocktail for the event. And he did. The Neighbor, JP and I had one before the party and until the Chambord runs out, The Neighbor and I will be enjoying one at least once a week. (It's a little much for daily consumption, what with us wanting to keep our trim and youthful figures, but the occasional indulgence is good for the soul).

This is the email he sent me, which was just sweet as can be:

I know that you enjoy "Pink Squirrels",so I wanted to design something along those lines for your birthday,only a little more special.

I wanted it to be seasonal,what with your B-day landing right on the cusp of Fall.
I wanted it to be something that wasn't too expensive...But still,..this is a milestone event!
I wanted it to be festive,AND!...
I wanted it to be named after you.
Two recipes follow...Single serving mixed drink,and blended party style.

****The 'Rainey Day****

Single serve:
In mixing glass with ice;
3/4 oz. Chambord Raspberry Liqueur
1/4 oz. Dark Creme De Cacao
1 oz. Vodka
1 oz. Light Creme (or milk)
Shake and strain into chilled Martini glass
Garnish with Maraschino cherry.

Blended:
Fill mixing cup 3/4 full with ice,..Add;
2 oz. Chambord Raspberry Liqueur
1 oz. Dark Creme De Cacao
2 oz.Vodka
Splash Whipped Cream
Add milk to top of ice and blend until desired consistency.
Serve in Poco Loco (or some such fancy) glass.

Happy Birthday my Dear Friend!!

Isn't he just the sweetest thing, ever? I love having my own personal bartender.

Thanks, Sling. It's a very yummy drink. You're the greatest.

JP loved the Chambord bottle. He said he felt like the pope when he carried it.

It does look like something you'd find in a sacristy.

---

In a perfect world, we wouldn't do a single thing this weekend. And mostly we won't. But tonight we are attending a movie premiere. (I know...such a glamorous life). It's for a short that was done by The Spouse's buddy Matthew Morris, a little thing called "Sans Vie". It's set in the future, in the French quarter of Seattle. Yeah. We don't have a French quarter. Whatever. It's the future. I guess the French are in charge. JP will hate the future.

The Spouse worked on the film and The Child had a small role as the main character as a young girl. It was her first film so she's very excited to see it.

And What About the Party?

First off, you have to understand that I was really quite sick on Saturday. The cold was doing its best to sap my will to live but my head and heart were determined to not let it ruin my party. Hello? I'm only going to turn 50 once. I took a nap in the afternoon. That helped. So did donning the superfantastic skirt my mommy made for me.

How do you not feel fabulous in something like this?


She was afraid it would be too poofy. I say, the poofier, the better.

Here's a picture of me and The Spouse after he gave me my beautiful necklace.


He's adorable.



Get a load of all those presents. Sheesh.


There were about 30 people at the party. I have a vague sense of having talked to everyone but can't really remember many of the conversations. I was telling Leroy this yesterday and he said that it was kinda like a wedding...every time you start talking to someone you get distracted by someone else and off you go. It was like that.


It also explains why, aside from the fact that this cold makes everything taste like vinegar, I really didn't have much to drink all night. I'd start a glass of wine, put it down and then have to start all over again. For my part there wasn't any serious drinking until the party was over and JP insisted that we finish all the champagne. Or "champangnya", as he likes to call it. And by then it was too late. Not that I really wanted to start the second 50 years of my life feeling like my head was nailed to a concrete block anyway.


You know what did make me happy? I may not have had deep and meaningful conversations with every guest in attendance but they all mixed and mingled perfectly well. I suppose the best sorts of parties are the ones which don't rely on the hostess. If my getting 'round to everyone was required it would have been a disaster. Pretty much, they didn't need me. It was awesome. I was surrounded by people I loved, friends from long ago with tons of history, newer friends, in-between (chronologically) friends. And they all got on like houses afire.



The party began at The Neighbor's. It was a coolish night but she'd created a bistro-like ambiance on her deck, with little lights and candles and cutouts of the Eiffel Tower. It was charming. People flowed in and out of the house, chatting and eating and drinking and laughing. A lot of laughing. After dinner and the presents, she gave everyone a cinnamon votive candle and we processed, singing the Beatles version of "Happy Birthday", to our house for cake and karaoke.

Here are the procession candles after we got to our place.


This is what they looked like an hour later. The Child had fun dipping her fingers in the wax. Until I made her stop.


Back to the karaoke. We didn't have any. Ree had forgotten the CDs. And she felt absolutely terrible about it. To the point that she almost cried. And this is a woman who never cries. I was finally able to convince her that we didn't need them and it was all fine and besides, we had cake. Poor, sweet thing. She felt like she'd let me down. She totally didn't. And much as I love karaoke, it does have a tendency to separate a party into singers and non. Without it, we all could hang together. It was better that way.


These are the adorable candles The Neighbor found for me. I blew them all out in one go so I'll get my wish.


After the first round of cake the party grew a little smaller as the folks with children in tow departed. The rest of us cranked up the tunes and danced and talked and laughed some more and ate more cake. Some people even stopped using a plate.


JP began to make the argument that the midnight toast should start early because it was midnight where he came from. We managed to hold him off until the proper time, which arrived quickly enough. Everyone gathered in a circle and we drank a toast and I told all of them how blessed I was to be sharing that moment with such fine friends. Really: me=luckiest girl in the world.

Then there was more laughter and craziness until I'm not sure when. JP and I stayed up after everyone left and both The Child and The Spouse had gone to bed. There was champagne to be finished and stories to tell. I love that man.


We'll clean up later.

But What About the Food and Drink?

On JP's list of Things to Do in Seattle was having cocktails with The Neighbor. So around 5 we trooped over. The Spouse came along, too. The Child popped in and out but she was getting ready to go to the concert. We sat on the deck and had wine and chips. I just kept looking at JP and grinning because he was really here.

Then, since it was The Spouse's and my anniversary, the four of us went out to an intimate little place called Dulce's which does very fine food with a Euro-Latin emphasis. (It's run by a husband and wife team...she cooks, he works the front of the house and acts as sommelier).

The Neighbor had a cioppino, JP had lamb, The Spouse had the Nebraska corn-fed beef (which of course JP refused to order because hello? like he'd come all the way to Seattle to eat beef? Not. Which begs the question, so did you serve him salmon? No.) I had ravioli with a dreamy veal confit. There was a lovely bottle of wine. There was laughter. There was aforementioned sneezing on the dessert cart. (Which embarrassed me greatly but seriously, my cold was worsening by the moment and there just wasn't anything to be done about it. Fortunately, that's not the food they serve to people. Oh, and I had a blackberry trifle and The Neighbor shared a chocolate Napolean with JP and The Spouse had a glass of muscat).

Then we went home and JP and The Dog had a moment.

On Saturday, while The Spouse was giving JP an eyeful of Seattle, I baked cake. I have no Martha Stewart-y skills when it comes to cake and also had 6 pans, 2 of each size ranging from 10 inches to 8. I decided to just stack them all, with raspberry preserves between the layers and cover the mess with ganache. A few raspberries to distract the eye and a jaunty Eiffel Tower and the top and it was ok. Actually, it made me laugh. But it tasted great.

Dinner came first, of course. There were peanuts and olives for aperitif and then we had daube with cute little mini baguettes and a mixed green salad with shallot dressing and goat cheese crouton. By that point my cold was seriously affecting my tastebuds but I'm assured by healthier folks that the food was fabulous.

Sunday was another matter. I had intended to make a nice dinner for JP. But between colds and champagne and excitement and staying up late, there was very little energy in the house. I'd made a strata for brunch, which we had with Bloody Mary's. But you know what we had for dinner? Frozen pizza. That's right. And it tasted just dandy. I'll cook for JP another time.

JP Est Arrivé

First, the bad news. The Hat isn't coming to my party. She is very, very sick. She is very, very sad. So are we. She will be missed.

(moment of silence)

'K, so having a pretty great time so far, despite the fact that I have a cold which is threatening to turn nasty that caused me, among other things, to sneeze all over the dessert cart last night at dinner. Classy, huh?

JP is here and it is as I thought it would be: it feels totally and completely as if we see each other every day.

I got to the airport about 10 minutes before his flight was to arrive. Got some coffee and stood by the escalators, waiting and watching. Then I decided I'd better 86 the coffee because I knew once I saw him there'd be big hugs and didn't want to scald him the first day in town. I watched and waited and kept thinking my phone was ringing, because he said he'd call me the second the plane hit the tarmac and every time I saw a pair of jean beclad legs on the down escalator I'd think it was him. Until it proved to be some old guy or some young chickypoo. There were people coming up the escalator as well and I'd scan them from time to time. And still no JP.

Then this guy came up behind me and said, "Whatcha lookin' for?"

"A guy".

"Really? What's he look like?"

"He's pretty cute, kinda looks like Bono".

"Oh. Sorry, can't help you there," he replied.

And then the hugs and the squeezes and the kisses and some more hugs just 'cause.

There's more to tell but JP and The Spouse just left for a bit to "run an errand" and The Spouse figured this would be as good a time as any to show JP the nickel tour of downtown. I am therefore going to use this lull to take a nap and see if this contagion can't be held at bay just a little longer. Because even though I will miss The Hat terribly, I am planning on having some serious wang chung fun tonight.

Seattle Ink

As many of you know, my 50th birthday is approaching. This is NOT a bad thing.


A) No way I look 50. (50 is the new 40).


2) No way I act/think "old".


3) I am really superfantastically happy with my life, my marriage, my kid, my path.


But still.


50 is, I don't know, kinda huge. It's a big round number that symbolizes a whole frak of a lot. (Which I'll probably muse on over the next few weeks). But the point is, when I celebrate this auspicious occasion and after the daube pot is empty and the champagne corks are swept away and the guests have gone, I kinda want something to show for it.


When The Child was turning 10, I thought about getting some ink. Now, this was a very radical thought. I don't have any objection to tats. Sometimes, when I'm surfing channels and see a few minutes of "Miami Ink", I even think they're pretty cool. But then I flash on myself at 90, in some nice little nursing home run by Benedictines, and I think that there is no way some minimum wage lackey should have to bath my sorry old arse AND have to look at what used to be a tattoo of a rose on said arse.


But the milestone of her birth approached and I was thinking it and mentioned it to a friend at a wedding. He said, "Oh. Honey. Please. Diamonds are forever".


Well, I didn't get diamonds when The Child turned 10 but I didn't get any ink, either.


The other night, in one of my post-Battlestar, pre-Sex and the City, channel surfing moments I caught an episode of "LA Ink", the spin-off of aforementioned "Miami Ink" and all of a sudden I thought, "Dang. Some ink. A tattoo of the Eiffel Tower. Right here!" (I said to myself, pointing to myself's right hip).


I told The Spouse. Who basically said, "Honey, you're going to be 50. Do what you want".


And I started thinking, "Yeah. I could do it now and it would be all healed by my birthday and by the time of my party I'll have lost the 6 pounds I gained in frakking Chicago and I can wear something just superfantastically amazing, with a midriff reveal and there I'll be, all 50 and crap and sportin' a tat of the Eiffel Tower". Huzzah.


So the other day I mentioned it to The Child. Who replied, "Oh. Mom. Are you serious? A tattoo? Oh, no, no, no. Do you have any idea how much those things hurt? And what if you change your mind? It really, really hurts to have them removed".


And in that moment I knew. I'm turning 50. I'm so getting some diamonds.

Partly Something

I'm not a meteorologist. I guess that's why I can't understand a weather report that says, "Partly cloudy with a chance of showers this morning, turning to partly sunny and a chance of showers this afternoon".

The Neighbor and I planned my 50th birthday party last night. It will be...wait for it...a French bistro theme. You did not see that coming, did you? It will be superfantastic. You're all invited. We also worked on a Rat Pack themed party for The Spouse the following month. We did that for his 40th and it was really fun. I suppose I should have run that by him before I told you but hopefully he won't mind. You're all invited to that one, too.

The Child thinks 50 is old. Funny. Because this morning I heard a birthday announcement for some musician who played with the likes of Bob Dylan. He was 66 and I thought, "Wow. That's young". Guess it's more of that partly cloudy/partly sunny thing.

I've never had a crisis around what my friend Pat calls "the speed limit" birthdays. You know, the ones that could be posted on a street sign. I was thrilled about turning 30 because it meant that no one could ever again get away with telling me I wasn't old enough to do/say whatever. I maybe hadn't yet experienced all life has to offer but hey, I was 30. That's a grown-up.

40 didn't freak me out at all. I've noticed that the people who are bothered the most by an age like that aren't really satisfied with where they are in life. By the time you're 40 you expect to have "done something" with your life. I was happy in my marriage, I had a kid, a house, pursuits that interested me. I'd been to England and France. And New York - twice. There was nothing to complain about.

50 feels the same way, only more so. Going into 50 I'll be able to say that I've been published. I'll have a job I like (still don't know what that is but I'll have one). Maybe by the time I turn 50 I'll have a pygmy goat and have learned to make chevre (that's on my list of life time goals). I still feel as young as I ever did, just more confident. Plus, when I look at women like Oprah, Helen Mirren, Susan Sarandon, or Diane Keaton I think, "Oh, yeah. Older looks good".

Hence, my 50th celebration will be just that - a celebration. Anyone showing up with black balloons or "over the hill" cards will be summarily dismissed from the festivities. I hate those people.

So anyway, back to the party. We'll have apertif and dinner over at The Neighbor's. She's going to hire an accordion player. Then we'll go to our house for cake and karaoke. I realize the later isn't particularly French but I like doing karaoke and it's my birthday. Then at midnight, when I officially turn 50, we'll drink champagne. Won't that be fun?

Direct Quotes

Favorite part of the weekend: "Having a sleep-over with L".

Favorite gift: "The money, because I can do anything I want with it".

(Well, sort of. Half of it is going into savings for France, the other half is being hidden in a secret vault at the Bank Of Mom and will be accessed only after the proper forms have been filled out and notarized. Maybe not quite. But she's not going to piss it away on bake sales at school, I can tell you that).

"And my second favorite was the Bratz doll from L. OH! And the Jar O' Wisdom"1.

"You don't have to say that just because I'm blogging this".

"I'm saying it because I do like it. Oh! And tell Uncle JP that his was the first wisdom that came out of it".



















Favorite thing eaten all weekend: (with eyes lit up and sparkling) "Sushi!!!!"

Favorite dessert: "That sweet & sour chocolate mousse thing at that restaurant".

(The godparents treated us to a lovely meal at a very fine restaurant. The Child behaved as elegantly as she is able, although she was coming down with a nasty cold and as a consequence, was having to blow and spew fairly often. Which she nobly attempted not to do at table. The mousse, which was in fact "bittersweet" chocolate, not sweet and sour, came in a Florentine cookie cup. It did look delicious but I didn't try any, because I was preoccupied with my poached Pear Helene, served on a plate swirled with both caramel and fudge sauce).

She says that she doesn't feel any different. She did, however, tell me yesterday, "I'm going to go rest for a bit and do some journaling"2. Oh, reeeally? That's new.

Now we are 13.

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1 Couldn't find a keepsake box I liked so went with a jar.
2 Dame Judi sent her a very nice journal plus a Venetian glass pen and ink set. Yeah. I'm jealous.