Ghost of a Birthday Past

A card, addressed to Tilah, from my great-nephews. Weston hopes I'll like my "raket" makers (chimes).

Two days ago I turned 40. Insert sigh. 40. Not sure I'm liking the sound of that. Other than the number associated with this particular birthday it was a nice day and evening spent with my closest family members. Just my mom and dad (so glad I still have them with me to celebrate), my own family, and my sister's family.

My sister had us all down for a bbq supper. My brother-n-law cooks a mean pig. Luckily, John got his recipe a while back. Now we can have it at home from time to time without having to wait on an invite for special occasions.

Besides the tasty grub the loot was also excellent this year. A little money, a little Clinique, a really nice, not-so-little shrub, a beautiful set of chimes, and a wok and all the bamboo accessories to go with it. Okay. You can stop laughing now. I know what you are thinking. At least, I know what those who really know me are thinking. But the truth is I am excited about using it (the wok). And when I have mastered it I will have you all over for some stir fry.

40-year-old eyes sans makeup

Do you find yourself thinking back on past birthdays whenever another one rolls around? I do. Unfortunately, even if I think really hard, I cannot remember them all. I vividly remember my 17th, like it was yesterday, though.

I was allowed to have a sleepover with a small group of friends. At some point at school that day we learned that a bunch of our guy friends would be camping in some woods to the rear of a large field on Pleasant Grove Road. Though the last words from my mother's mouth were "And I'd better not find out that you all have gone where those boys are camping," we made a beeline in that direction as soon as we had finished eating dinner.

After a short visit we headed back out across the field toward the car, that horrible green Chevrolet Impala I was forced to drive. When we were about half the distance back to the edge of the field we noticed a car coming down the road. It was none other than Kelsey Carver, Wendy's dad. Normally, this might not have been an issue. But, alas, Wendy was with me...in this party of delinquents...at my sleepover...and her daddy knew this. It didn't take long for him to pull over, exit his vehicle, and proceed to cross said field - flashlight in hand. So Wendy and I spent the next several minutes -which seemed like hours - on our bellies crawling as far away as we could while the other girls in the group told at least two versions of a story explaining our absence. We had gone with other friends to Gallatin. No, wait. We were out town at the car wash. Ummm. She loaned us her car. You get the picture. To make their storyline(s) believable the girls reluctantly left us slithering along while they drove off in my car, followed for a while by Kelcey.

There were, of course, consequences to our night of frolicking - my mother found out within a day what we had done and, worst of all, I ruined the new pair of white ankle boots I had been given for my birthday while crawling around in that field.

Picture of that fun night to come just as soon as I find and scan it.