I came home from work this morning, watered the birds and fed the dogs. Padded hither and yon. It was a morning like most any other morning. The wind was blowing some weather in. The mountains were getting snow. The Broncos got their asses whooped yesterday by the Raiders. 59 to 14. They haven't had that many points scored against them since 1963, or something like that. And then it happened.
There was a vase of bright orange and purple flowers on the table! With a card! That's right! It's my birthday! Phyllis surprised me, though I should know by now, after having had what, nine birthdays I think, since I've known her? Since I got her on eBay? I should know by now that she would have something special there for me when I got home from work. So it isn't an ordinary day after all!
I've had quite a few birthdays. I've had enough to count on my fingers and toes almost three times over. But the thrill is always the same, when I am singled out as being someone who is cared about, and when MY birthday seems like it MUST be sacred to someone else. Because someone else wants me to know that I am thought of, in a quiet and tingley way.
It makes me feel like a little kid again. It makes me feel like I am wanted and valued. And isn't that nearly the most treasured feeling you can have? To feel valued? To feel like your place in this world is worth something to someone, and that you mean something. To feel like there is a reason for you being here. That's what a simple vase of flowers on my birthday means to me.
And there is this chat board I frequent, full of old friends whom I also got on eBay, back when we were daring and silly. We have a lot in common, like a paper cut-out of dolls holding hands, connected through the past and making connections stronger in the now. I've never met them, but they are dearer to me than people I see every day, people I work with. No one at work knew it was my birthday, because no one cared. But the people who are tied to me gave me the wonderful surprise of wishing me Happy Birthday. Such a simple gesture, but meaning so much, like a glance from someone who knows you so well that you never have to explain, and the gesture says it all.
It's a morning like most any other. I took Pete for a bike ride. We took the long way, just because we were both so alive with the fresh breeze making the air clean to take deep, long breaths, looking cold with silver clouds and leaves the color of raw egg yolks, yet warm anyway, just warm enough even though it's October 25, 2010, and I'm 58, going on 17, but only for today, my special day.
