Card Carrier

We drove along a country road that very dark night, headed for Aliceville. Four of us in the car, ready for a weekend celebration. One was touching fifty, the other a new eighteen. A family brought together by the proximity of natal days. Suddenly we're involved in an almost cow collision as a bovine ambles into our path, is nearly hit by the car's front bumper and then simply continues her stroll to the other side of the highway. Fortunately the driver has seen her approaching at the last moment and quickly applied the brakes. The only catastrophe is the duo's birthday cake which is jettisoned off the back seat and lands upside down on the floor. All of us are grateful that nothing worse has happened. Cake can be eaten even if smushed. Cars and cows, however, are another matter if they encounter one another.

Sitting in my office, I'm engaged in a conversation with my boss, the College President. He seems a bit uncomfortable but perhaps it's because usually we chat in his office. I look up and see my husband at the door. He knocks, enters and hands me the end of a pink crepe paper streamer. He says, "Pull." I look at him quizzically, but I do as he says. I can't help but notice that my boss's face is relaxing, maybe even smiling. I tug on the streamer and wonder what I am doing. I'm at work, after all. Soon I know the answer. I'm beginning to think that somebody might be at the end of the paper line. Perhaps my friend Barbara from Arizona. How nice. How wrong. There she is, holding the other end of the streamer, cousin Marilyn from Marietta. I scream. Scream some more. Stop to hug her and cannot keep my mouth closed. There are so many questions. My staff gathers. I look in the hallway and find that several people, including the Vice-President, have pulled up chairs and are peering over a wall of filing cabinets to witness this scene. Everybody knew except for me. I am the most gullible of all. I never get the clues and can be fooled easily. Even little kids figure things out before I do. It is February and another incredibly thoughtful and well-planned surprise has unfolded. My dear husband is a master at seeing inside my heart and giving me that which often I don't even know I want.

Twice I've been feted with unexpected visits from our daughter in time to celebrate a new birthday digit. One Saturday I was at the neighbors' house when, rather suddenly, they retreated into the kitchen to get a cake with candles. As they returned singing "Happy Birthday," someone slipped out from behind them. It was Caitlin who said simply, "Hi Mom." The look of astonishment on my face acknowledged my incredulity. He'd done it again, that master of birthday surprise. Not satisfied by this coup, the very next February, I was innocently watching television on a Friday night. The neighbors appeared at the door around 10 pm. This is most unusual, but still I am unsuspecting. They're carrying the baby monitors because their girls are fast asleep in their own beds next door. I'm startled and ask what's wrong. "Nothing." they say, very convincingly. While speaking, they move out of the doorway, and Caitlin magically appears. Good gracious. How can I be so lucky? After two such surprises in a row, she says no more for a while. Henry resorts to new schemes. He's undaunted in designing ever more complicated surprises.

Last year I opened our front door one day in mid-January and standing just outside was cousin Dottie. The resulting reaction caused both she and Henry to worry that I was having an asthma attack because of my repeated screams and constant covering of my face with both hands. Having arisen in the early morning hours for the first flight from her part of the Gulf coast, Dottie retained her buoyant spirit and spent her first few moments in the desert trying to calm me. Again, I had no clue. The five year old twins next door were in on the surprise and never hinted at what was about to happen.

More than a month ago, the subject of this year's birthday became part of an ongoing discussion. What should we do? Go to Arizona? Texas perhaps? Not Oregon. Much too cold. San Francisco? Stay here? Skip the whole day? I wavered. Considered the various options. We'd driven to Orange County less than a month before. Wouldn't it be quite indulgent to go there again? Hmmmm. Maybe not. The Marriott website is accessed. A new venue is found. It looks perfect. Make reservations for two nights.





Birthday nirvana. South Coast Plaza, my shopping haven/heaven. More than one day to dawdle, admire, select. Not quite the same as unexpected and much loved visitors, but very high on the happiness quotient. We arrive at the shopping shrine to witness a Chinese New Year's celebration in progress. Nice touch.




I'm ready to escape everyday life and adjust to my new status as a card carrying member of the Medicare brigade. This year's number is a difficult one for that reason alone. I know I'll acclimate. It's inevitable.

Throughout my life, I've observed birthdays with relish. Not only mine, but more importantly, those of my family and friends. I keep a bulging file of birthday cards ready to be mailed across the country to commemorate that special day for a loved one. I choose these cards with an intensity that may be just slightly overwrought. I browse through racks of cards to find the perfect one and affix a sticker with the name of the intended recipient on the final choice. In that way, the card is waiting when the date approaches.

My daughter's birthdays have always been celebrated with abandon. Ingrained into her psyche is the importance of such days and she insists on treating 'her' day as extra special. If blame is to be assigned, I must shoulder much of it with a very willing assist from her dad.

Even a serial shopper such as myself eventually tires and must retreat. Our hotel is located in Newport Beach and we drive through several quaint little communities before arriving at the nearly sequestered entrance. With no restaurant on the property, we'll find a portable feast and return to dine in our spacious room. Unfamiliarity with the area causes us to seek a grocery store where we expect to find a fully stocked deli that will meet our culinary needs. What luck! Tucked in small spaces adjoining the parking lot are several restaurants. It must be serendipity. There's an Italian place which serves not only the requisite pizzas but several sandwiches that appeal to Henry. Next door, a Mexican restaurant featuring rotisserie chicken. I'm happy.

Back in the car with our food booty, we're ready for a quiet evening savoring a meatball sandwich and grilled chicken with skewers of freshly cooked vegetables. Better than a restaurant. We are the only 'customers' in our hotel room.

The next morning, we decide that a bit more shopping will satisfy my birthday buying thirst and we can return home in the evening. After checking out, we wander around the center of the property looking for photo opportunities. There's a beautiful fountain to capture.



We notice another couple intent upon the same experience. After offering to take a photo of the two of them, we introduce ourselves. Ed and Suzanne have escaped from Wisconsin. The sunshine of Southern California is balm for battered midwesterners. They've spent time during previous winters in a property near our desert home. We enjoy an almost instant rapport. Trade life histories, the shortened versions. Suzanne is a shopper. She loves Dillard's and Nordstrom's. Must be a cousin.




We're reluctant to say good-bye to these delightful people and so we invite them to join us at South Coast. I'm sure Ed would rather be any place but there. Suzanne, however, is intrigued. She's never even heard of the place that holds such an allure for me.



We've proven once again that many of the best memories from any excursion occur spontaneously. They cannot be foretold or planned. They often happen if you are willing to extend yourself, to be open to those whom you don't know, and to reflect upon the gift of adding new people to your friends' list. Perhaps this chance encounter was one of the best birthday presents of all.

By mid-afternoon, the ladies have visited many stores, selected and discarded many possible purchases, left the men to talk without interruption, and embarked upon a friendship. We've shared personal insights, responded honestly and gently when asked if a particular choice is the right color, fits attractively, costs too much, or is just plain laughable. In a department store where a 20% discount is offered if the customer is wearing red, I've briefly borrowed Suzanne's bright red coat and claimed my discount. The clerk didn't seem to think it odd that the color clashed with everything else I was wearing. She simply applied the reduction.

At the end of this indulgent shopping spree, I've almost forgotten the momentousness of the day. I think about previous birthdays when 'zeros' were significant or how much I anticipated my twenty-first. How startled I was when a vicious flu flattened me that day. Yes, it was unforgettable but not in a good way. I am sobered by the fact that having a birthday is quite an accomplishment, regardless of the numbers attached. I am deeply enriched by the extraordinary people who share my life, remember my day, and make it so very special. I am chagrined to reflect upon my own shallowness when I relate how shopping can buoy my spirits. I'll need to work on that trait in this next year.

In the meantime, I'll be using my new red, white and blue identification card for a lab appointment next month. Perhaps the kind receptionist will say I don't look old enough to be a card carrier. The issuing agency knows my numbers and my face tells the rest.