She had a baby three years ago. I made her a quilt. A really pretty one. It was bright and modern and fun. It was meant to be used, not stored somewhere so it doesn’t get dirty.
I mailed it to her.
I hadn’t seen her in years.
I hadn’t known she was pregnant.
Still, she’s my cousin.
Our mothers are sisters. They don’t get along very well. Our mothers are not our birth mothers. She was adopted from South America when she was three years old. I was adopted from the hospital where I was born and taken home when I was three days old.
She’s several years younger then me.
I loved her right away.
She lived several states away and we rarely saw each other growing up.
She had some hard times.
Some really hard times.
Nobody likes to talk about it.
Her mother won’t talk about her.
Her mother moved back to her home state.
My cousin lives where she was raised.
I don’t know if she got the baby quilt.
I texted. I Facebook messaged. I tried.
I hope she got it. I hope she uses it. I hope her little girl likes it.
I’ve reached another milestone. I’m another year older. Yay, me! Each year is a celebration. I have added to my life experience. No ill fate has found me. I AM ALIVE! That, my friends, is worthy of praise.
I generally reflect on a few different things on my birthday, one of which is the mysterious circumstances of how I came to be. Ok, it’s not a huge mystery. Boy meets girl. Boy and girl have sex. Girl gets pregnant. Girl has baby. Pretty standard, actually. But who were the boy and girl (or man and woman as the case may be)? How did they meet? What were their plans? Apparently not raising a child together, since I was surrendered for adoption at birth. What ended up happening to them? And what about my half-siblings? My very sketchy paperwork suggests that I have at least three. What of them? All a mystery. Maybe I’ll write the story myself and turn it into a best seller and a blockbuster movie starring Camryn Manheim as me. Why not?
The other thing I generally reflect upon is the past year and the ups and downs it brought. Let’s see…
Positives:
1. I sold my house successfully and moved out.
2. I taught at my new school for a year and loved it.
3. My relationships with my sweetheart and my son are positive and loving.
4. I wrote a manuscript.
5. I lost a few pounds and tried out lots of different types of exercise.
6. I connected with several friends.
7. I was offered a great summer work opportunity that turned out very well.
8. I participated in a year long collaboration project that also turned out well and will continue next year.
9. I found and bought a new house.
10. I’m happy.
Negatives:
1. I’m still fat.
2. I still have to take medication.
3. I still have bad habits.
4. I still procrastinate.
5. I still haven’t met most of the 47 for 47 goals.
Oh well. I’m over it. Really, I am. I like those goals. I think they’re worthy goals. I think I’ll keep them. When I reach them I will celebrate, but I won’t beat myself up about them. I’m being kind to myself, because if I can’t even be nice to me, why should anyone else be nice to me? I know I have stuff to work on, but I’m ok with that. I’m not perfect, and I never will be, but I have goals to work toward, and right now that’s enough.
In the meantime, won’t you have a slice of virtual chocolate birthday cake with me? It’s as delicious as you allow yourself to imagine, and not a single calorie will pass your lips!
Last night my sweetheart took me out for an early birthday dinner date. We went to this funky old seafood restaurant and I indulged. Every few years I have lobster for my birthday dinner, and this was one of those years. No, it’s not exactly on my diet, but it’s been a stressful couple of weeks, I reasoned, so I deserved it. Crazy talk, I know, but I don’t care. It was delicious. It always is. But how would you know that?
How would anyone know that within that weird and somewhat scary exterior a delicious bounty resides? Who took a look at a lobster and said to himself (I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a woman), “hmmm, this looks tasty, think I’ll give it a try.” Who? Someone who was either an adventurer, or a lunatic, or on the brink of starvation. It doesn’t look like food, and it’s not exactly easily accessible without a rock or some other tool. It’s not like seals boil lobsters and eat them with drawn butter. Someone had to figure the whole thing out.
Whoever that guy is, I want to think him. As horrifying as I find the whole look of the lobster, I’m able to get past it as soon as the first sweet delicate morsel passes my lips.
I want to be like the guy who figured it out. I want to be able to see opportunities where other people see madness. I want to make a gourmet feast out of a weird and scary looking situation. I want to go beyond what is obvious and take it apart to reveal that which is magnificent. I want to be that explorer, that risk taker. I want to discover the next lobster dinner, but I don’t want to get food poisoning along the way.
It’s my cousin’s birthday.
BulgingButtons 