I was chatting with fellow Grubstreet writer, Wendy Vega, the other day about running out of things to write for a column. She said, "Why not write about your birthday?" I said been there; done that, but not recently. I don't remember. Yes, those are words I find myself using too much lately.
Hitting birthday number 58 isn't nearly as traumatic as was hitting 50. When I get to 60, I'll be stale dated. Although my mind thinks it's young, my body tries to remind it that it's not. My body especially likes to tell me it won't do things like painting, lifting, yard work and anything to strenuous anymore.
In our family, our birthdays tend to last the entire week. Well, five days, at least, in my case. Marcy made one of my favourite dinners last Sunday night, chicken parmigiana, with pasta; on Wednesday, she made chicken fricassee, with angel hair spaghetti. Both were good! My in laws and Michelle's boyfriend, Brandon, came over as well.
Marcy also made my favourite cake. It’s a two layer, red velvet, with vanilla frosting cake. It lasted through the next day and that was it. It was yummy!
This past Friday was my actual birthday and Michelle left the house early to do some errands; and errand was to buy my birthday gift. When she got home, she presented me with a New York Met's Matt Harvey picture plaque, to go along with the matching jersey. She was so excited to give it to me and I really like it. Now, I just have to figure out exactly where to put it. Right now, my gift is sitting on the server in the dining room and, of course, Marcy doesn't like it there.
Sunday night we went to dinner to one of our local, old time Chinese restaurant where the egg rolls are homemade and are the size of three from any take out joint.
We ordered sesame chicken and roast pork lo mein, which is enough for the four of them and had enough leftovers for two of us, tonight.
When we got home, Marcy and Melissa gave me their gift, which is exactly what I wanted, a small waterproof blue tooth speaker that I can use in the bathroom to stream music from my phone when I take a shower. It's blue and green; I think I'll name it, Bleeny.
I got some nice cards in the mail as well from my mother, father and radio sister JJ Kennedy. She is so good about sending cards!
This was one of my better birthdays. I hope there are many more. Marcy says she's going to make me a surprise sixtieth party. Yeah, good luck with that. You already told me about it; how will I be surprised?
Matt Seinberg lives on Long Island, a few minutes east of New York City. He looks at everything around him and notices much. Somewhat less cynical than dyed in the wool New Yorkers, Seinberg believes those who don't see what he does like reading about what he sees and what it means to him. Seinberg columns revel in the silly little things of life and laughter as well as much well-directed anger at inept, foolish public officials. Mostly, Seinberg writes for those who laugh easily at their own foibles as well as those of others.
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