Birthday blessings....

I recently celebrated yet another birthday, a day which seems to come around faster every year. It was one of the lesser birthdays, as humans calculate these occasions, not a zero or a five day, but a one, as in 51. The celebration was low key, time spent with family, and consisted mostly of a long drive, followed by trips to the auto repair shop, the grocery store, and a fun little pub, and ended with a night spent sleeping on the sofa with a couple of curious cats. Although it is not the kind of birthday party you dream of as a child, when you are an adult, it was a perfectly fine way to celebrate. It had all the important elements to make the day a success for me, family, food and a few hugs and warm reminders that I am loved.

When I think back to birthdays as a child, it is interesting what I do, and don't, remember. I would have been shocked to find out that the things I was so worried about for each party would be so insignificant once a few years had passed.

1970, when I turned 10.

I do not recall most of the gifts I received, although I had a party most years, and I know they were well attended. I don't remember the date of each party, although it certainly would have been mid-September each year. I don't remember the theme of each party, although most of them had an animal shaped cake, hand created by my artistic mother with frosting and an assortment of candies to provide detail. They were works of art in food form, and are still remembered by some of the girls who attended those parties, which tells you just how beautiful they were. I don't remember the menu for most of them, although as I got older, I usually had a bonfire, so it probably included hot dogs and s'mores.

I remember who came to each party, my memory jogged by the black and white photos my mother snapped with her little Brownie camera. When we were really young, we wore party dresses and shiny black patent leather shoes, because birthday parties were fancy affairs demanding respectful appearance and presentation. Our mothers would caution us to behave like little ladies, and we would try hard to comport ourselves as our mothers would wish. Those were the days when anyone's mother was allowed to reprimand a child, and heaven help you if it was needed, because your own mother would do it again, just for good measure, when you got home. Not surprisingly, I do not recall out of control children at any party I ever attended. Embarrassing the entire family was frowned upon in our little community of Scandinavian offshoots, where generations resided side by side, and you knew everyone else's grandparents.

A birthday no-slumber party

As we got older, the formal parties turned into slumber parties, where it became a contest to see who could stay up longest. We had one friend who decided early on that her rest was more important, so she would take her sleeping bag off into a corner and go to sleep when she was ready, despite our best efforts to prevent her. I laugh now, but she was probably smarter than the rest of us, who would go home and crash all day, annoying our families, who would then vow that was the last one we would attend.

All of those memories are fun to think of, and I don't regret a moment of the time spent. But none of that is what I think of first, when I remember those special days of long ago. Instead, I remember a couple of things with which my parents, who were short on money, but long on creative spirit, gifted me.

The first such gift occurred on my seventh birthday. I awoke in the morning to my mother and father coming into my room, waking me up for school, and wishing me a happy birthday. My parents took me by the hand and said they had a surprise for me. I don't know what I was hoping for, but I'm sure it was something simple, like a doll or perhaps an artsy kit of some kind. I was very surprised when they led me a few steps to the bedroom next to mine, which always had the door closed, and to which I paid no attention.

With my mom in 1962

My mother opened the door, and I stepped into what looked like a fairyland. They had painted the walls my favorite color, baby blue, and they had put carpeting down on the cold hardwood floor. There was a beautiful bed with a pretty light blue spread and pillow shams to match, and the sheer curtains hanging from the windows were the same fabric. There was a little vanity, with a stool in front of it, skirted in blue fabric by my mother, who must have spent hours sewing it while I was at school. They had hung a mirror on the wall over the vanity, so I could primp and feel like a grown up as I got ready for school in that amazing place. I felt like a princess to have all that loveliness surrounding me.

The vanity was old, and made out of orange crates, if I remember rightly. We still have it in the attic at my mother's house, blue fabric now gone, still full of my junk that I can't quite bear to part with, but don't really want, either. It gives me a rush of pleasure every time I see it, because of the memory of that special day. The little stool was a small wooden barrel surrounded with a skirt of blue fabric, and topped by a little round pillow, hand made by my mother.

Perhaps the most exciting thing about that room, however, was the door that led directly outside to a small porch where I could sit in the sun and have some privacy while I played or read. It was my own personal balcony looking out over the world, and I felt like a queen surveying my kingdom every time I stood at the railing and glanced around the yard below.

That room became my haven from a world that turned hard rather early, and I still find a peace within those walls that I cannot reach anywhere else. The gift my parents gave me that day was not just a material gift, but rather, the gift of their time and attention. To have spent so much time to give me a space that was just right for me made me feel special and valued in a way that a usual gift never could.

It would be hard to top that incredible birthday gift, but my creative and energetic mother didn't stop there. A couple of years later, I was again led by the hand to another gift, this time outside.

My parents blindfolded me to build up the suspense, and led me carefully across the yard. I didn't know where we were going until suddenly we stopped, and they removed the blindfold. In front of me was a building, the former brooder house, I had somehow not really noticed there before, despite it's having been moved from another area of the yard. [If there is ever a crime happening in my vicinity, I will not make a good eye witness. Apparently, I notice nothing.] My gift was a playhouse that was a real little house, probably 12X10, complete with stove [not working, they were creative, not stupid,] cupboards, vinyl flooring, windows with curtains, and furniture.

Petite

That playhouse was an amazing place for a little girl to "keep house." I spent many happy hours in that very special place, winter and summer, planning my life and enjoying the dreams of what I would do when I grew up. I imagined myself as a career woman, coming home at night to my own home. I pictured myself as a mommy, strolling my baby [usually in the form of my dog dressed up in doll clothes] around the farm in a doll buggy. [That dog was a saint.] I played FBI with the neighbor boys, and pretended that I ran a hotel. It was a store, it was a radio studio, and it was a school. It was whatever my imagination made it, ever versatile for the needs of the moment.

I had a large map of the world hanging on the wall, which fueled my dreams of seeing the world. It gives me a feeling of nostalgia to see that my daughter now has a similar map hanging on her wall, and my dreams of seeing the world are carrying on through her.

With my Dad in 1963

In a world that is focused on the things people want, it is ironic to me that the most important gifts I ever received were mostly created from the materials they had at hand. They spent very little money on either gift, I'm sure, since there wasn't a whole lot to go around. But in the end, it's the time and attention they spent to give me something extra special and one of a kind that I remember.

Wisdom is the gift you give yourself as you mature. I have been blessed 51 times over, and the wisdom I have gained is one of the most important gifts life has given me.

We are rapidly coming up on the Christmas season, and soon we will be inundated with the wants and requests of loved ones and strangers alike. With the advantage of hindsight, I can assure you that the best gift you can give your family is the gift of your time and attention. It is the one gift they will never forget, and the most important one you can receive. Although the trappings are nice to have, the love is what you need to have, and what you will remember the most.

Of all the birthday blessings I have ever received, it is the loving creativity of my mother and father that stand out for me. All material things pass away, but love is forever.