Last Friday I celebrated a major birthday, grateful that I had reached this age in relative good health, am still vertical, flummoxed that I haven’t grown up yet, and startled when I accidentally reverse the photo function on my iPhone and wonder who that is looking at me.
I remember my uncle calling his mother a “cute old gal” when she was probably in her 60s. Another relative, Annie, was 80, or maybe a few years older. We were afraid of her when we were kids because she looked so fragile, like she would crumble if touched. My grandmother on Mom’s side was a gruff old gal who never smiled. As kids we were terrified to stay at her place because her snoring shook the house. To get her goat, we’d sing Bing Crosby’s song about feuding families:
“Grandma, poor old grandma
Why’d they have to shoot poor old grandma
She lies ‘neath the clover
Someone caught her bending over
Pickin’ up a daisy. (Sing this line quickly and staccato)
She would bark at us “Oh, shad up!”
My paternal grandmother was a different breed. First husband died, second ran a dry goods store in Indiana where he worked the girdle bar until he passed. Her third husband rented a room in her house and was Dad’s age. We called him the “false roomer.” You could have knocked him over with a feather when she started drawing “the Social Security.” He had no idea she was 30 years older.
How does one celebrate a big birthday? Instead of having a party or taking a trip, decided to spend the entire year visiting with family and old friends.
If you live in Benicia it’s likely that friends and family will come to visit you. Donna, an old Benicia Insight Meditation Dharma buddy and retired English professor visited recently from Trinity County. Her required stops are always the same — the Library, Bookshop Benicia, and a long walk downtown.
My sister Janie and bro-in-law Tom from Idaho just left. They always want morning buns and were devastated when Farm and Flour closed. So I preordered eight of them from One House Bakery — one each morning with their coffee — as they enjoyed a view of the Strait from my patio. If you don’t get to the Bakery early, the buns are history.
They also hit Sepay Groves on First for lemon olive oil and lemon meringue balsamic and the Farmers Market where we got strawberries from Chay who brings them up from Watsonville each Thursday. “Is it true that the smaller strawberries are the sweetest?” my sister Janie asked. “See what you think,” he said smiling as he handed her a humongous one. It took her several bites to finish, as the sweet juices dribbled off her chin. “I would say ‘no,’” she said.
Later we walked up to Gazebo Park and made “good trouble” with our signs and flags while “Born in the USA” and “Respect” blasted from loud speakers. A fellow with a bullhorn shouted, “Show us what democracy looks like!” “This is what democracy looks like!” we answered. Even in Idaho, Janie and Tom have been known to pull over and join a protest when they see one.
Ricki, whom I’ve know since 6th grade, visited last month from Boston. She’s an early riser and walked up to the Drift on First for a cup of coffee. Three of my roommates from college — “Go Bears” — came up for lunch. We had a leisurely repast on the patio at Bella Sienna spending hours getting caught up and giggling about how one of us recently found love through a dating site.
Ricki has come up with a new beauty trick for those of us with ropy veins our hands. Hold your arms straight up over your head for about 10 seconds as if you’re a referee signaling a touchdown or field goal, lower your arms, and then look at the back of your hands — the veins have disappeared! Your hands will look 30 years younger. “How long does this beauty trick last?” I asked. “Oh, about 20 seconds.” I know that beauty is fleeting, but this was ridiculous.
I flashed on a possible business idea — a health and wellness line called “Stupid Beauty Tricks” playing off of Letterman’s “Stupid Pet Tricks.” Along with the veins exercise, we could advise on how sipping on straws, kissing, whistling, and slurping pasta causes deep fissures between your top lip and your nose. We could reprise the old orange juice can curlers habit that straightens your hair but hurts every time you move, thus robbing you of a night’s sleep. I did this in high school and where did it get me? Or how about lying in the sun drenched in baby oil or cocoa butter? Add a foil reflector for good measure. Actually, now that I think about it, the arms in the air move doesn’t sound so stupid.
Talking about celebrations, the Benicia Friendship Club’s recent fundraiser “Hats and High Tea” was “smashing” as the English say. Ellen Blaufarb wrote a lovely column about the event last Wednesday, so I’ll just add my two cents. Was stunned by the scope, creativity, elegance, and hard work put into each table design and the delicious and equally picturesque high tea delicacies.
I sat at one of Loretta Ose’s tables. She was also chair of the food committee. Ours was decorated with an elaborate antique birdcage, silver rimmed chargers under burgundy plates and a perfect flowered teapot for each place setting. Inside were foil wrapped Lindor chocolates. Tiny birds with pink chests and green heads were attached to wide silver rings which held heavy damask napkins. In miniature envelopes fashioned from flowered wrapping paper nested two Twining teabags as guest favors.
To see a photo of each table go to Facebook, type in “Benicia Friendship Club” and scroll down.
Cheerio for now.
Letters From Benicia 