So much good packed into a blink of aging that I'm working hard at denying - impossible when my children insist on registering each year and inch and snippet of new wisdom.
I arrive to work on this dawning of the thirty-two to be serenaded in the foyer by waiting co-workers intent on celebrating my birth to which I'm sure I blushed and nodded, embarrassed and thrilled. And there on my desk, like a rainbow, six beautiful cupcakes wait to bless my taste buds and my waist line. Such thoughtfulness! No wonder I love my job!
Hours scattered in blessings on me - a plethora of emails and facebook posts, the visiting of my parents with their own little chocolate cupcake and yellow candle, the fireman picture from my ever-thoughtful sister, the flowers...
...He's probably 65, shuffling along the carpet, dragging one bum leg in a weird side-dodder, seeking me out, tucked there in my office at 628 11th Street. He carries sunshine, bursts of yellow wrapped in cellophane and pink tissue paper and he places it on my desk and I think my face might burst because I'm so surprised. I have never had flowers delivered to me. Maybe getting another year older isn't going to be so bad.
I'm thinking dear husband has upped his game, cherishing our little joke with the scratchy penmanship on the card..."I would catch a grenade for you." He denies any knowledge, foolish not to take the credit but honest and confused.
Then I know. It couldn't be anyone else. Her. The one I will grow old with. Are you the one responsible for the beauty on my desk? And her reply says, of course, though her words say, "throw my hand on a blade for ya!" And I know she really would.
It's rare. This friendship we have - this freedom for honesty - this for better or for worse life sharing. How blessed am I to be always welcome, always wanted, cherished even?
Of course, we had to go. Through fog and freezing rain to spend a beautiful night laughing together, tears weeping down our faces - I wanted nothing else. Not enough sleep but more than enough love and now I can get busy making my way to a fabulous thirty-three. With bells on.