Looking out my Backdoor: Happy secret birthday, me

Remember when you couldn’t wait? When each additional year brought joyful anticipation, jumping up-and-down glee? What? When you were 6. Then 10. 18. Even, in a different way, 21. That was then.

I have a dear friend who still gets that excited. For years she has extended birthdays from The Day to The Birthday Week and celebrates herself every day. She’s healthier than I am.

Me, I skulk around hoping nobody remembers. I don’t want any fuss. So I keep schtum.

I also have friends who keep track of everyone’s birthdays. This is good. They let me know when to send best wishes. We are scattered distances. No fuss, just good feelings. I enjoy their birthdays. I enjoy their greetings to me. Makes me feel warm and fuzzy.

Last week I turned a daily calendar page and grew another whole year older. It is no secret. But, I didn’t run around singing “Happy Birthday to Me.”

In a way, this birthday which sneaked up on me is a surprise. It won’t make sense to say I never thought I’d get to this age. Here I am. Fortunate and blessed. I don’t take any medications. Most of the friends my age gulp a daily dose of pills the size of a packet of M & M’s. My blood work is good. My problems are mechanical, annoyances, like a flat tire or the left back wheel locked up. They slow me down.

“Slow down” is a good thing for a woman who approached life most of my years “like killing snakes,” so I’ve been told by those close to me.

In my own little ways, I celebrated my birthday. My party began with a huge dish of steamed asparagus, seasoned with butter, salt and pepper. A dishful. Not two spindly spears like one gets as decoration in an upscale restaurant. I love asparagus.

Mid-afternoon John came by to share some news. He left my place to go see Kathy and Richard. I said, “I’ll tag along.” I filled Lola’s dog dish but left early, took my dog; left my gate open.

Crin was in her garden, dragging a fallen palm leaf, so we hailed her and said, “Join us.” On her way through her gate, Crin saw Lani and said, “Let’s go to Kath and Rich’s.” “Be there shortly,” Lani replied.

We got settled. Kathy brought out glasses and a pitcher of water, which is the perfect drink on a day in the 90s.

Sure enough, shortly, Lani and Ariel appeared. Ariel carted in a beautiful chocolate cake.

All I can say is that it was perfect. It’s my birthday. And my friends gathered for an unintentional celebration complete with cake. I kept my secret close to my heart. No focus, no fuss. Just good cake with good friends and it was all the more special to me.

Let me tell you the side story. Lola used to sneak into Josue’s yard and scarf up Snowball’s dog food. Snowball is like her name, a little bitty thing. Lola liked Snowball’s brand of chow better than her own. There was nothing to do but change my dog food. So I bought a bag for Snowball and a bag for Lola.

Snowball has a new friend, a four-month old pup, Hunter. Hunter has paws the size of saucers, so you get an idea how big he will grow to be. Though taller than mid-size Lola, Hunter is a pup.

When Lola and I got back to our house after having chocolate cake at my secret birthday party, I saw first thing that Lola’s just-filled bowl was empty. Not just empty, but licked slick and shiny.

I did laugh as I refilled Lola’s bowl. Hunter had come bounding into our open gate, sniffed out the bounty and helped himself. Retribution.

I think the Universe does like balance. I turned 78 and got an unexpected party with friends and cake. Hunter ate an extra meal, payback for all the times Lola ate little Snowball’s food.

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email sondrajean.ashton@yahoo.com.