April 24, 2012
“You never hesitate to tackle the most difficult problems,” my fortune cookie says. Somehow, I knew that.
Because our birthdays are so close together, we always do a family party and then our own little party. When our daughter was old enough to drive, she began organizing the cakes. I say “cakes” plural because I like carrot cake and Mark likes chocolate cake, so she would get both. For a long time these cakes were purchased at Edie’s Bakery which is the best bakery I’ve ever been to. They made our wedding cake with sliver curled shavings of white chocolate and rose petals. Their cakes are too good for words. But then we all started going to whatever bakery was close by. We got busy and we still found some good cakes.
So Sunday night after sushi there was a chocolate cake and a carrot cake, apparently organized by the daughter. Oddly my gifts included a weapon, a scarf, Laurel Ann Bogen gave me this beautiful purple bracelet and Mark’s gifts included a bag of carrots. There was a reason for the carrots. Don’t ask. It’s too complicated.
Tomorrow is off to Santa Barbara. We used to go to all the bed and breakfasts as I for one, thought that would be romantic. We tried them one after another. Santa Barbara is chock a block with them. Until we stopped and realized there were problems.
1. We don’t like breakfast.
2. We don’t like frou frou.
Most of these places had hearty breakfasts, some even communal breakfasts where we had to do our least favorite thing on vacation: Talk to others. Especially people you aren’t ever going to see again. And after this unnecessary meal (I know, I know, but I don’t need it,) we’d walk about and come back to our frilly room with lace and corsets done about the bed and curtains as if the room were a table and needed to be tied back or it would spring from a window, unlaced and un-gartered. So we now stay at a simple hotel with lovely rooms with Spanish tile and no breakfast in sight.
I like family birthdays and celebration in general. There is a reason for the whole concept of breaking break together. Eating a meal with others reminds you that you are all human and all need to survive. I would say it’s harder to hate someone you’ve had a meal with, but divorced couples manage it all the time.
We rush along in our lives like human steam trains and don’t pause to say, we climbed this mountain, swam this river, swarmed over this barn like migrating swallows, but rather wait to say, this and that in you displease me, for these words we have time, for reminding each other of those faults that others have as if we had none, missing whole jewels of days, whole mornings breaking and evenings waking owls come out and find their mice to eat and softly thrush about with no one watching, because too often we are indoors thrashing out electric images on screen, and keyboard, punching in the ticket of life as if those electrons mattered. As if.