I realize that the
past three posts have been absolute funerals, so I shall dispense with the
solemnities and tell you about our birthdays.
I say our birthdays because SG
and I are only two days apart, which is absolutely serendipitous. (Would you say that's the correct use of the
word serendipitous?) We've been partying for almost a week, but I
think the bout of revelry has finally come to a close.
It began with
birthday breakfast last Saturday. It was
SG's actual birthday, and our dear friend Chez took us out for breakfast at a
little place on a little corner in the little town where we live in Australia. They gave me ice cream on my pancakes. It's an Australian thing. SG's breakfast looked like it had come
straight out of a food fashion show. It
had sauce swirls all around the plate.
Chez got a plate with all the flavors of a prize-winning breakfast, and
she shared her bacon.
After breakfast, we
tripped all over town looking for any fashion finds that flirted with our
fancy. It wasn't really quite as
carefree and squanderous (is that a word?) as it sounds. Chez needed an outfit for an engagement
party, which we found on sale in a little boutique. On the topic of boutiques, I don't know how
they stay in business. I, for one, can't
muster up the bravado to shop in them. I
always feel like I'm a patient in an observation room when I shop in those
places. The owners are scrutinizing me,
wondering if I'll buy the crazy floral maxi skirt or the Thai silk blouse in
chartreuse.
I didn't manage to
make it through the morning without a little retail therapy. It wasn't therapy, really, it was a near
necessity. I had noticed several days
before some telltale signs of wear on the derriere of my favorite pair of
jeans. Not one to walk around showing
off my undies to the world, I decided replacing them should happen before the
mortifying shrrrrrrip heralded the
rending of my jeans the next time I decided to do the splits.
If you've wasted any
time skimming through fashion mags of late, you'll know that colored jeans are
the thing of the moment. I wish I could
say that in French because it would lend me credibility, but I can't. To get to the point of an already lengthy
digression, I walked out with a new pair of terra cotta colored skinny
jeans. (Fashion inspiration credit for
the color goes to Sam, who recently bought some jeans in terra cotta, being the
fashion forward man he is.)
How this birthday
blog post turned into the recount of my fashion escapade, I'm not sure, but
let's get back on track. Sunday, the
festivities continued. Sue baked us a
cake to have at morning tea after church, and the whole congregation sang happy
birthday to us. That evening, we hosted
Messy Church, which is a family/community service that involves crafts, story
time, and dinner. The theme was
"You're Invited to a Party" and we used the text of Luke
14:12-24.
After dinner, they
brought out two cakes, baked by Lois, and we were regaled again. It was the biggest birthday party I've ever
had. It was like a love explosion in our
faces, and we reveled in it. They
brought us presents of Australia pillows and koala pencil cases, chocolates and
colorful coin purses. It was a
celebration to bring down the house.
Monday, the party
continued with my actual birthday. SG's
culinary instincts brought fish tacos to the table that night with a flourish
of mango salsa. A-mazing. They sang to me at playgroup, and Monica
brought cake for SG and I to Bible study.
(There has been so much cake this week!)
That sounds like a
respectable end to a week of singing and candle blowing, but it wasn't. The grand finale came Thursday night when an
eclectic group of people arrived in ones and twos at the house where we're living. Some came from several hours away. They were teachers and students, counselors
and chefs. They're the friends we've
collected over our 9 months Down Under.
They looked quizzically at our Mexican feast with Australian eyes for
whom Mexico is a faraway land inhabited by cacti. With a bit of coaxing and coaching, they
filled tacos with the necessary accoutrements and thrust tortilla chips into
the bean dip and guacamole.
Having satiated
their appetites, we moved on to the rite of birthday party passage, a something
begun in our days at OBU. The book was
procured, and the rules explained.
Everyone reads a page before passing on the book, but you may choose not
to read. I clarified that Katroo is
pronounced kuh-TRUE and began
reading. I don't think our Aussie (and
the lone Canadian) friends had ever read Dr. Seuss' Happy Birthday to You and I don't think they'll soon forget
it. We laughed until our middles begged
for mercy.
From there, I tried
to teach the Cupid Shuffle, but our guests' interests were elsewhere, namely,
dessert. That's ok. I know not everyone feels the need to dance
at every special occasion. Along with
dessert, we laid out two canvases and some watercolor paints to serve as a
guestbook. SG requested thumbprints in
the arrangement of a bouquet of balloons, and I wanted a tree with thumbprint
leaves. Ambitiously, I was anticipating
something so arts and crafty it would take over the creative underworld,
Pinterest. What I got was a tree that
looked like it had sprouted a cluster of balloons, with a thumbprint flower
growing at its base and a thumbprint bird flying overhead, having just dropped
what I can only hope to be an egg, but surmise otherwise. For what it lacked in technique and
composition, it made up for in hilarity and affection. It probably won't end up in a gallery, but if
you could put a canvas on the fridge, I'd do it.
The party ended with
several games of Uno, some guitar playing and strange stories of people getting
lost in the Australian Outback. We
hugged the last to leave adios, and turned to face the kitchen. SG tackled the leftover food, and I wrangled
the dishes into the dishwasher. We
opened our presents, sighed contentedly and floated into our beds.
It was a good
birthday, indeed.
Little Miss Sunshine
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