It’s my daughter’s birthday today. I’m baking her a pink strawberry cake with polka dots and stripes, as per her request. Otherwise, taking the day off.
xoxo
Tag: birthday
Writing Prompt: Birthdays
Tomorrow is my birthday! I will be 33 years old. Wow. I remember when I had a notebook in which I counted all the days until I turned sixteen (I was twelve at the time and thought sixteen would be a magical age–how wrong I was and how many days I had before I found that out!). It’s almost hard to fathom my age or the “fine lines” appearing on my face or the fact that I’ve got kids and a husband and pets to feed. The older I get, the more complicated my feelings about birthdays become.
So why not write about it? And why not drag you along with me?
That’s our writing prompt for today: birthdays. Whatever it means to you, whatever ideas it conjures. At least five minutes. Go.
Twinkle Twinkle from the Bar
The girl’s birthday was this Sunday, and she was going to have a party. I’d themed it “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” knowing that stars would be an easy item to find (paper cups, garlands, twinkle lights, clothing) in December, but also because there’s something of the dark night to my little girl, and something luminous. She moves in and out of herself, scowling and shining by turns but always bright, like the stars that never really cease to glow but simply move out of our eye line.
I’d like to think she gets that quality from me, but I have to admit my glow has dimmed over the years, and needs a little more kindling. With that in mind, and given the impending social even for which we were preparing, I invented a drink–a little fuel for the old inner fire, so to speak.
Anyway, the party got canceled because the girl got a fever the night before (on top of being sick, she was apparently cutting two teeth) and so the fire required no fuel. Instead of celebrating our girl’s first year of life we spent the afternoon with a grumpy baby who just cried at the hunk of cake I put in front of her and a brother who was convinced that the birthday would be his if only he screamed a little louder. I could have used a fancy drink after the terrible children went to bed but I didn’t bother. I wasn’t in a very twinkly mood.
Anyhow, I call this the Ginger Twinkle. There’s apparently a cookie of the same name out there (I Googled it, as I always do when naming something, mostly out of a fear of accidental innuendo) but this has bubbles in it and sugar on the rim, so–double twinkle. Which means I win. Anyhow, it goes like this:
First, make a ginger syrup. (Or buy one. Slightly different results, both yummy.) Put about a teaspoon of syrup in the bottom of a champagne glass. Fill the glass a bout 3/4 full of prosecco. Top with ginger ale.
Of course, I tried multiple variations of this. You can increase or decrease the syrup and it’s good lots of ways–it’s even good without the syrup at all. Just prosecco and ginger ale. Or just prosecco. Or wine. A little Christmas magic. Right, Linda? Whatever helps you twinkle.
Thirty
In one month, I will be thirty years old. That means I have one month to do a whole lot of things I wanted to accomplish in my twenties.
Visiting all 50 states is not going to happen (not counting states where I’ve only been inside an airport, I think I’ve been to fifteen). Even if it was finished and submitted and magically accepted for publication right now, my novel would not be published by October 19th–I can’t even say it will be finished by then. I don’t have time to join a roller derby team, and since I haven’t been on skates since the second trimester of my pregnancy, I would probably fall and break an ankle first thing (I’m an enthusiastic but untalented skater). Not even an extreme crash diet would bring me down to my ideal weight that quickly. I can play maybe five songs on the guitar but I can’t even remember which strings play which notes and it’s going to be quite a while before I can play an F#minor. Continue reading “Thirty”
The Sensitive, Bookish Type 