I am usually up between 5:00 and 7:00 a.m. listening to the morning news. But today, my day started at 12:03 am. I am usually up well past midnight either reading or working on a puzzle. This evening, however, I had fallen asleep early.
In my sleep, I heard the familiar sound of a guitar strumming. By the time I realized that it was my phone, not part of a dream, I had already missed the call. It was Gila and she had left a voicemail message, an off key rendition of Happy Birthday sung by Gila and Heaven. Since it was now only 12:05 am, I had no qualms with returning the call.
Instead of hello I sang a verse of 'When I'm 64' a hit by the Beatles from the Rubber Soul album. We laughed about the songs and then arranged for a pick up at 10:30 for dim sum. How unusual for me to have such a fuss made over my birthday, but now that it has happened, I am so thankful that I have a friend who makes me feel so good with her extravagance. By now I was wide awake and I knew that I could not lie still waiting for sleep to return, so I returned to the quilt. Each time I sewed parts together, I realized that I had made a mistake. The first error was sewing one piece to another upside down. Then I sewed the pieces together without following the established bargello pattern. Seam rippers were invented for people like me. I was sure that I had it right now. The piece was not upside down, the pattern was properly followed but I had sewn a strip too wide for the pattern. I have learned that when I start to make errors, it is time to walk away from the machine. It was harder to go wrong reading. After a while my eyes finally drifted closed and the book fell out of my hands.
I still woke up early. I tried to return to the land of Nod, but I knew that I was already too wired to lie still in bed, hoping to fall asleep again. I got up but rather than making tea or getting dressed. I picked up the quilt once more, sewing up an entire square without mistakes. I estimated that stopping at 10:00 would give me more than enough time to get ready. As the hourly news came on, I made the bed, picked out my clothes and began to dress. Before I was done, I heard knocking at the door. I peered down the stairs to see who it was, but all I saw was a colourful bouquet of flowers tied to the knocker. Only one person could have done this, Gila. And there she was behind the balloon. Dressed in an unbuttoned sheer black shirt over a white bra (what was I thinking) I raced down to open the door. No I was not trying to be sexy. I just needed more time to become presentable. I was very touched to be presented with one of Gila's paintings as a birthday gift. I had admired them at the cottage during the summer and I am happy to have one of her originals. I rushed back up the stairs to get ready. Gila went back to the car to keep it warm.
When I got to the car, Gila was busy making a balloon necklace for me. I wore it until it popped on the barrette in my hair. The restaurant was still not busy and when we got a somewhat secluded table, I was presented with even more gifts. First was a wonderfully schmaltzy card with the following wish: May you always have a pot to pee in! When your cup runneth over, may you have a shmata to clean it up! First there was a plastic quill pen to write with when there was no power. Then I unwrapped a beautiful pottery bowl designed to feed knitting yarn to the needles. I'm going to have to find something to knit. And finally a pottery pitcher emerged from the yards of wrapping. So thoughtful! So extravagant! So beautiful! So appreciated!
Over the past few years, Josh has taken me out for dim sum on my birthday. Sometimes, it was just the two of us. Other times, Irv and his family joined us and one special year, Willie and Sarah came too. This year, for a change, Josh decided to treat me to Peking duck. To keep the tradition alive, Gila treated me to dim sum. Since she had never eaten this type of meal, I had the bonus of being able to pick all of my favourite dishes. Gila was somewhat surprised that I said no to the first few carts that were rolled by, but I knew what I wanted. By the time we had shu mei, har gow, shrimp with green onion dumplings and shrimp rolled in rice noodles, we were full. Gila was ready to stop but I still hadn't had a few of my favourites. This is Chinese food. Wait a while and you are hungry again, so when I ordered snow pea leaves and chicken sticky rice, that disappeared as well. Now I was ready to quit, but couldn't pass on the eggplant and shrimp that sat on the next cart. The lovely thing about dim sum and this restaurant is that you can sit enjoying the tea almost indefinitely. The problem is that if you sit long enough you can be tempted by something new from the kitchen like beef ribs and mini spring rolls. We had to stop then or the staff would have to roll us out. And we talked non stop. The conversation with Gila always flows uninhibited and uncensored. She listens without judgment and tries to understand the meanings trapped within the words. She makes me dig further to understand where I am coming from and where I need to head. How fortunate I am to have a friend who has shared so many similar experiences and is willing to listen to me prattle on. She has also taught me to be a better listener and values the support I offer when she needs it. Before we left, I admitted that I have never laughed as much before I met Gila. Through her, I have come to better appreciate my place in the lives of others.
While we ate, I got more birthday wishes from Isabel and another rendition of Happy Birthday from Irv and Cynthia. I need to remember this day when I feel down, unloved or unappreciated.
Our plan had been to see the Guggenheim treasures at the AGO or see a movie. I was interested in American Hustle, but time had slipped away so quickly that the film had already started before we were ready to move on. Gila had seen two of the films on my must see list and the other possible choices were either too far away or in progress. Just as we were prepared to visit the art gallery, we found that we still had ample time to get to the Carlton Theatre to see Dallas Buyers Club. I knew little about the film, other than Jean Marc Vallee (C.R.A.Z.Y. and Cafe de Flores) was the director and that there was a buzz about an Oscar for Matthew McConaughey's stellar performance. In the film, the actor starts as a self involved homophobic slacker interested in only sex and drugs. He transforms from a man dying of AIDS to an entrepreneur in an illegal enterprise to an empathetic friend and finally to a vocal AIDS activist, a riveting film.
During the movie, my phone buzzed a number of times. It was Dov persistently trying to deliver his his special greetings. I texted that I was in a movie and found that he had left a voicemail message, an upbeat duet of ... you guessed it, Happy Birthday. I called him back to learn that there was a parcel in the mail for me as well. Later while I was enjoying some down time before dinner, Zev sent a short movie of Mia, Hazel, Ash and Clove singing Happy Birthday. The bonus was chatting with Hazel when I called to with my thanks for the video.
Then Josh and Christine arrived to take me out for dinner, the next activity on my birthday schedule. They also had gifts, a Holocaust themed book, liners to facilitate cleaning the crock pot and lastly in the big box, a new slow cooker that had given birth to a mini crock pot while waiting to be opened. Christine had noticed that the lid of my crock pot had a wad of aluminum foil instead of a handle, making opening the pot somewhat problematic. I will have to plan a dinner with chocolate fondue from an included recipe in the mini pot as dessert.
Dinner was at a Peking Man Restaurant. Although it is in a strip mall on Sheppard Ave., access to it is difficult if you don't already know where it is. It is a large room trapped in a time warp of the late 60's or 70's. The room was festooned with lights and tinsel appropriate for the season, many arrangements of fake flowers and wooden sleighs, trains, reindeer and trees we saw regularly in Germany. Josh did the ordering. After appetizers, the waiter first brought little bowls of sauce, a plate with green onions and cucumber and several bamboo steamers filled with tortilla like rice wrappers to the table. That was followed by the appearance of a whole roasted duck artfully carved and arranged on a bed of crushed Oriental chips. The carcass disappeared back into the kitchen. Josh showed me how to assemble the offerings on the table into what looked like a blintz and by the time we polished off the crispy crackling skin and the succulent meat, the waiter retuned with a plate of whole lettuce leaves and the rest of the meat now minced from the carcass. This time we wrapped the meat in the lettuce leaves and devoured that too. It was a wonderful evening with delicious duck and comfortable conversation.
It is without question that I love my children without reservation. But year after year, I realize how lucky a woman I am that my children include me in their lives and consistently extend their respect and honour me at every special event. I have to remember to recall these moments whenever I feel down, alone unloved or unwanted. There is no better evidence to refute those feelings.
On the ride home, Willie called with his birthday wishes. We chatted about blackouts, Christmas dinners and the need to get together after the holidays. It had been an amazing day! I felt both loved and appreciated. If only these feelings could be bottled and saved for whenever the world seems so much more unfriendly and cold. Again, I realized how lucky a woman I am.
This had been my best birthday in years. The day was over and cherishing each moment I was ready to retire for the evening. Unexpectedly, there was a knock on the door. I certainly didn't expect anyone at this hour. It was Heaven with a huge hug and yet another gift. Gila had driven her over so that I could celebrate this day right to the last hour. Heaven had given me a beautiful, uniquely designed sweater. Wow! I don't think the day could have been any better.
Now that I'm older, wiser by far,
Many years from now.
I will still remember all the love I had
When I was sixty-four.
My apologies to Paul McCarthy for the plagiarism.
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