All About Me

Most years, my birthday passes by in a haze of activity - the first week of March is high school choral festival week so there are either rehearsals or actual performances on the day.  If the ninth falls on a weekend, our church bell choir often plays in church on that particular week, so I'm stuck there and can't take the weekend off. But this year, spurred partly by the Disney ads that offer free park admission on your birthday and partly by the overflow of points in our Disney vacation club account, we decided to take a week off, spend a few days (including my birthday) in Orlando, and then drive to Naples for the remainder of the week.

So last Monday, my actual birthday, was all about me.  I've been teasing people in my family with that phrase, because mostly my life is all about something or someone else...my family, my dogs, my job, my high school kids, my friends...but for that one 24 hours period, the day was mine. 

It was really nice. 

Actually, it  was glorious.  The Disney people always make you feel special - after all, that's part of the magic - but even more so on your birthday.   They created a special little park ticket just for me, with "Happy Birthday, Becky" printed right on it.  And a button to wear as well, so that everywhere I went in the parks people were calling out "Happy Birthday!"  I passed lots of other folks of all ages wearing birthday buttons, too, and we were able smile and greet each other conspiratorially, part of the big March 9 birthday group.  All the restaurants gave me free desserts (the raspberry creme chocolate bombé at The Yachtsman Steakhouse was my personal favorite), and the servers at Les Chefs de France providing a rousing rendition of Bonne Anniversaire.   We went to all my favorite attractions in Epcot (The American Adventure, including listening to two sets of The Voices of Liberty, Test Track, and Spaceship Earth).  We had time to return to the hotel for an afternoon nap, and then took a cab (no Disney bus on my birthday, thank you!) to the Yacht Club where we feasted on pan seared scallops on a bed of white cheddar risotto(appetizer), eight ounce filet mignon with red wine mushrooms and garlic mashed potatoes (entree), and the afore mentioned chocolate/raspberry bombé.  Afterward, we walked back into Epcot where we landed a prime viewing spot for the spectacular Illuminations fireworks/lights/music show which closes the park each evening.

I had so much fun being the center of attention, I cheated a little and wore my birthday button the next day too- and yes, I did get another free dessert (please don't tell that handsome young server named Geoffrey in the Brown Derby  Restaurant at Hollywood Studios).

Once I would have shied away from all that hoopla, considering it foolish or even embarrassing.  But whether it's  my advancing age or simply that I was starved for attention,  I lapped it all up like Molly would a dish of melted vanilla ice cream.   I even asked my husband to take pictures of me - and from someone who has run from the camera her entire life, that is a remarkable request.

Having life be all about me for a change was mmm, mmm good.

So why don't I do that more often?

The world didn't come to an end because I did what I wanted to do for a day.  I assume my family still loves me, that my job is waiting for me, and my name hasn't been stricken from St. Peter's list at the Pearly Gates (if it was even there in the first place.)

But the ever present voice in my head, urging me to be responsible, to think of others, to act humbly, be self-effacing, is very hard to resist.  On most days fighting it is futile, so I relinquish my own best desires, and sometimes my own better judgement, in service to my conscience, my work ethic, my sense of responsibility.   

Of course I don't plan on suddenly becoming a totally henonistic being, oblivious to anyone's need save my own.   But would it hurt to occasionally -at least more often than the annual birthday celebration- have life be all about me?

I celebrate myself, I sing myself - thus begins Song of Myself,  Walt Whitman's famous poem.   I loaf and invite my soul...

That's what I did on Monday, and what better day than a birthday to celebrate oneself? 

It was undoubtedly the best gift I've received in quite a while.

Now tell me... when was the last time you made life all about you? Isn't it about time you did?

Celebrate Today

The last few days have been all about me - really, they have.  I've had such a marvelous time celebrating my birthday that I completely forgot about getting older. 

 And that's as it should be, I think.  Birthdays should be a celebration of  LIFE - improving and ongoing, changing for the better with hope for a bright and exciting future.

Although I've been busy, my fingers have been itching to get back to the keyboard.  There will be more words coming in the days ahead...

In the meantime, here are some photos to keep you amused.

My Month

March blew in a little bit lion-ish yesterday, but the cold breezes were mitigated by cloudless blue sky and the sound of mourning doves calling to one another in the pine trees outside my bedroom window.  Those doves are the first harbingers of spring here in the midwest - when I hear then begin their cry, I know the seasons are a'changing and soon another winter will have passed. March is "my month"...the month of my birth, but also the month that winter begins to retreat and let spring make it's way onto the horizon.  So it's a month of hope for me, a celebration of new beginnings. 

My mom and I were driving around on our usual Sunday afternoon adventures...sometimes we go to TJ Maxx and Bargain Books, or our favorite gourmet market.  On the way home, we might stop at Panera Bread for one of their awesome Pecan Braid pastries and a cafe mocha. Of course we talk about lots of things, including family stories (many of which I've heard numerous times, but which always bear repeating).   Yesterday,  I heard a new story, and it always surprises me a bit that after (almost) 53 years, there are new stories to hear.

"Did I ever tell you what you Aunt L. said to me when I told her I was pregnant with you?" my mother asked me. 

"No, I don't think you did," I replied, keeping my eye on the Jeep Cherokee that was following a bit too close on my rear bumper.

"Well, I hadn't told anybody yet," she said, "and one Sunday afternoon your dad went into work and dropped me off at her house for the afternoon.  So I told her I was pregnant, and she said  'Well, that's just awful! I thought you had better sense than that.' Now wasn't that a terrible thing to say to me?"

"It definitely was!" I answered, although not terribly shocked.  My Aunt L. has some rather strange ideas about life.

"And then," my mother continued, "we went over to tell Grandpa (my paternal grandfather) and he shook his head and said 'So what? Babies are nothing...they come all the time.' "

She laughed.  "So nobody was very excited about you!"

I laughed too, not the slightest bit offended because I've never been anything but cherished by all these people since my first breath on earth.   After all, my Aunt L. was the youngest of seven daughters and my grandfather the parent of five boys and a girl. Family life during the depression was not easy, and I imagine another mouth to feed in those days was not an unmitigated blessing.   Children couldn't be as carefully planned in those days as they often are now - neither science nor societal expectations allowed for it. 

March sends me the urge to make plans, too, whether because it's my birthday month and I feel the "march" of time, or because of the tinge of warmth in the air, the thawing of frozen ground and the noticeable increase in daylight.  I get an itch to change things up, to do something different, to get in my car and drive for days.  It was in March about eight years ago that I went looking for a "real" job, and ended up in the office where I work to this day.   It was in March three years ago that I started writing here, that impetus to try something new setting me off in a new direction of self-expression.

This March, I feel a desire to reset my professional compass.  I'm wondering if it might be time to leave the world of paper shuffling behind and head out on a new career path, one that lets me be more independent and creative.   Although I don't have any definite plans,  the word is that if you're open to new possibilities, they will appear before you.  

So this is my way of putting the universe on notice - we'll see what the wind blows in.

And I'm wishing all of you a Happy March - may you be open to the signs of spring as they appear around you and within you :)

The Pleasure Principle

Moet Chandon Champagne, circa 2001. That's our special bottle of wine ~ the one we've been saving for some unknown event in the future we deem noteworthy enough for popping the cork.

Could it be tonight?

Don't get excited, now...I didn't sign a multi million dollar book deal or discover the cure for cancer.  But I just learned that tonight is Open That Bottle Night, an annual event created by Wall Street Journal wine columnists Dorothy Gaiter and John Brecher.  They created the event 10 years ago as a way to encourage people to enjoy those bottles of wine they've set aside as "too special to drink."

And what makes a wine that special?  Oddly enough, it often isn't the vintage or the price.  Usually, it's all about the memory attached.  The couple says they receive literally thousands of letters each year from people who share the stories of the wine they plan to enjoy.  Some recall gifts from friends or family, or purchases made on once in a lifetime trips.  People will stash these bottles in their cellars as a memento of the person or occasion, rather than enjoying the wine as it was meant to be enjoyed.

It's a bit sad, isn't it? hoarding a bottle of wine as a memorable token, rather than simply taking a few moments to drink it and enjoy it?

But then, we aren't always comfortable with simple pleasures, we product-driven Americans.  Especially now, when all the buzz words have to do with "sacrifice" and "cutting back" and "the simple life."    Author Elizabeth Gilbert, addresses this very concept in the "Eat" section of her book, Eat, Pray, Love:

Generally speaking, Americans have an inability to relax into sheer pleasure.  Ours is an entertainment seeking nation, but not necessarily a pleasure seeking one.  Americans spend billions to keep themselves amused with everything from porn to theme parks to wars, but that's not exactly the same thing as quiet enjoyment.  Alarming statistics...point out that many Americans feel more happy and fulfilled in their offices than they do in their homes.  Of course, we all inevitably work too hard, then we get burned out and have to spend the whole weekend in our pajamas, eating cereal straight out of the box and staring at the TV in a mild coma (which is the opposite of working, yes, but not exactly the same thing as pleasure).

Seems to me that opening a bottle of wine, most especially one with a happy memory attached, is exactly the kind of pleasurable moment which could rejuvenate even a badly battered American spirit.  

Our special bottle?  It was waiting in the hotel room in San Franciso where we arrived to celebrate our 25th anniversary.

Pass the corkscrew.

How about you? What bottle will you open tonight?  If you don't drink wine, is there some other special pleasure you've been saving for just the right moment?  Could that moment be now?

CAN-it

As much as I admire our new President, I'm unsure whether to watch his address to the nation tonight.  Why?  Because I'm sick and tired of hearing  what a horrible crisis we're in, how the country is facing unprecedented challenges, how we all need to pull together to avoid a national disaster.

I'm certainly not blaming Mr. Obama for this situation, or  for all the negative vibrations circulating through the atmosphere.   This mess was handed to him on a lovely silver platter (mostly courtesy of the Bush family and their Republican relatives).  I am, however, pointing a big, fat finger at the news media which has been feasting  like a school of hungry sharks on the current economic downturn.  The spirit of this nation is at a mighty low ebb, and every television, newspaper, and radio station seems to have made keeping us there the top priority.   Even commercials aren't immune...have you seen the Target commerical offering do-it-yourself alternatives for everything from pedicures to pet grooming? Sure, go ahead and DIY...put all the nail techs and pet groomers out of work too.

While I'm not downplaying the very real troubles the nation faces, I am exhorting the media to take responsibility for improving morale rather than continue to beat us all with the "dire straits" stick.   It has become exceedingly clear exactly how much power the media wields in this nation, and with power comes responsibility to use it for good.  Does the continual barrage of bad news really serve the national interest?   Could we begin to focus on some positive outcomes?    How about using all those collective  smarts to come up with some ideas for creating new jobs and industry?

Frankly, every time I hear a tag line which includes the words "national economic crisis" or asks "has American seen better days?" I feel my stomach start churning.  Defeatist jargon and alarmist rhetoric will get us nothing but a nationwide epidemic of ulcers.

Just this week, I've seen a few new stories about the booming movie business here in Detroit.  Several new productions houses are in the works, huge ground floor up facilities, that will require the labor of  designers, contractors, electricians, not to mention food crews and housing facilities.  Today's Detroit News had a (teeny tiny) front page story announcing that Detroit was listed as one of the top 12 cities in which to make a film.  

There's some good news for this old town, folks.  

There has to be some more of that out there somewhere. 

Of course, it's easier for the media to capitalize on all the gloom and doom.  There are plenty of people only too willing to talk about it, whether it's affected them personally or not.   

 I'm proposing we band together as "Citizens Against Negativity", and tell them to CAN-it.   Until they do, I'm declaring a moratorium on reading/listening/watching any news programming. 

When it comes to using the power of the media, we CAN DO a lot better than this.

Postscript:  I did watch Obama's speech last night, and was rewarded once again by his erudition and elegance.   I was pleased that he referred to other times in American history when the country has faced greater challenges and risen above them thanks to ingenuity and imagination.  We need to be reminded of that.  Let the rest of the media take a lesson.