I am blown away by the birthday wishes. Thank you--it meant the world to me. I had a nice day with park time and making pickles time (note: when the recipe calls for kosher salt and you only have sea salt on hand, decrease the amount of salt) and a board meeting and Rita's water ice with Lindsay where she gave me the most thoughtful gift in the world (you know, one of those things you say in passing and the other person remembers and gives it to you months later and it's not even about the item: it's about the fact that someone heard you). 34 isn't terrible and when I think about other ways it could have looked, I bite my tongue.
The comments were also beyond wonderful for my self-esteem; comments being the new hug. It has also taken me a long time to grow into (read: be comfortable with) that hair so...it's nice to have other people say nice things about you.
Here is the strange convergence that you could not have possibly known. Two issues from childhood have come back into play this week: bugs and friends. They require a much longer post of explanation, but yesterday, while I was on the phone with my friend, I caught a wasp in my Dyson (this somewhat doesn't count because I have no fear of wasps). I also brushed a cricket off of the Wolvog and took them walking to the strawberry fields despite the cacophony of crickets come from under the straw (Shelby, I was dying when I got out of the car and saw them leaping through the sticks).
Outside, I am fine with them. Inside, I have my Dyson. I am trying to hold down all of my fears which are being forced back up to the surface. Damn aging and reliving.
Aaah, wait, the convergence. The other issue is about friendships and feeling alone as a child. As I was on the phone with my friend, catching the wasp, we talked about feeling like a ten-year-old again and reliving all of those friendless moments from childhood. And then I walked in the living room and saw the number of comments. And was blown away to go from being ten inside my heart to being 34 in reality and seeing those verbal hugs. The truth is you need those verbal (and actual) hugs when you are ten and you need them when you are 34. That never changes.
But it reminds me of the year I bought my mother the book The Ugly Duckling for my birthday, the year I finally became comfortable with myself (does that ever really happen?). I bought it for the last line:
“I never dreamed of such happiness as this, while I was an ugly duckling.”
Here is to not being between the ages of...oh...let's say 8 and 14 (the awkward years). To not being a teenager anymore. To being an adult--even with all of the heartbreak that entails. I don't need to be a child again (please no), but I would love to be able to bounce around my thirties forever and ever.
So thank you, for making it a good day.
Sign up below for the next book tour--a blogger's book!--hopefully this will kick her in the ass to write more posts.
Barren Advice below as well.
And a massive project is brewing and will spill over in another day or so. Anyone care to hazard a guess? Here is the clue: summer thinks that are good enough to drink.