Wow, time really flies while you’re busy having a birthday sometimes… I turned forty last Thursday, and it’s been one big, fat love-fest ever since.
Cards. Calls. Dining out. Happy Birthday serenade from a school yard full of three and four year olds… en Français. Shopping. Sultry red wines. Candy. Perfume. A new book by Maurice Sendack. Lingerie. Gorgeous coffee table book of photography. Champagne. Cupcakes… with a diamond eternity band in the icing of the chocolate one. (Holy crap!)
And I got tickets to see Prince. (Holy crap!)
I got to see the faces of some people I love… and I have family visiting me now. I got a lot of hugs and kisses, which are always my favourites.
And though each and every one of these things, the gifts and well-wishes, and the all love I received brought tears to my eyes (and has for days since) there was another special gift else that came to my door in a leaf-lined basket, from a bunch of neighbourhood children I love very much…
…apparently they love me back. This knocked me out, like whoa.
It’s a wonderful thing to be celebrated and toasted by others – it’s really a lovely feeling I’m still basking in… I feel nothing but good things about turning forty. I’ve never been worried about it, or dreaded it in any way. My mother never did either, so perhaps that’s why I’ve never had any anxiety about any of it. That’s a good thing!
I’m letting more and more stuff fall by the wayside. I care less and less about what others think about me, so I feel free to do what I want. And say what I want. And be how I want. Heh – this could get dangerous, people! But here’s hoping the next forty years will be as love-filled as the first.
YAY FOR ME!!