thoughts, words, deeds

on this special day

"Start each day like it was your Birthday." Kate Spade How would you live each day if everyday was your Birthday?

This is an interesting thought . . . until I think about how I generally spend my birthdays. At forty-one, I might get calls from my siblings or nieces and nephews. Sometimes I get to pick the dinner. We almost always have a cake . . . which is a story in itself. My birthday is in February—the seventh. Of the eight people in my family, five were born in February—my next sister on our father’s twenty-fifth birthday, and the youngest two days before the second to youngest’s seventh. So, cake is plentiful and all consuming and eventually a bit much in February. I certainly wouldn’t want cake every day.

But, since cake is the only really special thing that happens on my birthday—well, you can see the dilemma. For me, the reason that we celebrate birthdays is that it is our special day (I also share my birthday with a cousin who was born six hours and twenty minutes before me. My mother was not amused because I was a late first baby, while her sister had an early second and still managed to have him before me). Part of what makes it special is that it doesn’t happen every day.

So, the idea doesn’t appeal. If I had to spend every day as my birthday, I think I’d end up treating it as everyday and bland and common as brushing my teeth or looking in the mirror. I much prefer having the opportunity to have one special day and to enjoy everyone else’s special days as well . . . even if it involves sharing my day with my cousin. Who did name a daughter after me, so I guess I love him anyway.