Happy returns

When I was a little girl, my birthday party was always a pool party. In Redding, it was a given that it would be sunny and hot – hot meaning over 100 degrees to locals – on any given August day. My friends and I would splash in our doughboy pool, eat ice cream cake, and open presents, and then dive in for more. One year, pressed for a new twist on ice cream, my mother tried baked Alaska instead of the requisite Baskin-Robbins ice cream cake. The next year we went back to tradition.

The summer of my 21^st birthday, I was working fulltime in a yogurt shop kitchen and doing two musicals. When my friends and co-workers heard I was turning 21, they all said they would take me out for my birthday. My calendar cleared, I got up, cleaned house, showered and sat back, waiting for the phone to ring. My mother did call with a greeting (she had given me my beloved Cuisinart a few weeks before) and an off-key serenade, but otherwise, the phone remained eerily silent. I read a bit, watched some TV, and took myself to bed, disappointed.

Today dawned grey and cool, and the paper reminds us that this is normal August weather for the Pacific Northwest. I note with mild alarm that the leaves on a few vine maples are already turning red around the edges. Summer, seemingly endless when I was young, is now slowly but surely losing its grip, foreshadowing autumn. I too have changed, growing toward realizing that I’m much more likely to get something if I ask for it. So last night, I set out a Cravings Place mix and a pan before I took off to a board meeting, and lo, a birthday cake magically appeared this morning. I also have a date with Number One Son to attend the Seattle Chamber Music Festival tonight – they were kind enough to schedule Joshua Roman for my birthday. The phone has rung a few times as well, some with everyday kinds of calls, some with birthday greetings. And all appreciated.