Monday, December 13, 2010

Un Anniversaire for the Grownups

When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three
I was hardly me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five,
I was just alive.
But now I am Six,
I'm as clever as clever,
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.


This past weekend, I reached the breathtaking age of 25 years. There were no birthday cakes, or candles, or party hats. I think it was the most adult birthday I have had thus far.

What there was follows: An Englishman. A Mini Cooper, and a lot of tootling up and down the coastline of Big Sur. Plenty of Eggs Benedict, buttermilk pancakes, bacon, and Earl Grey. A wood fire stove and lots of reading in bed. Cliffside hot springs and massages. And when we finally staggered home, tired and happy, there was large brown package leaning against the front door, which contained a big, beribboned box stamped with the name Kate Spade.

Though I may still feel like an impostor perusing a wine list, it occurs to me that adult birthdays are really not all that shabby.