My husband (and friends) threw me a surprise party last night in honor of my upcoming 50th birthday. To set the record straight, YES, I WAS ABSOLUTELY WITHOUT A SHADOW OF A DOUBT SURPRISED. Did I have any idea? NONE WHATSOEVER. At least not for last night.
The fact that I was truly surprised surprised people. They figured since Jay had successfully thrown me 30th and 40th surprise parties that I would have known he was throwing me a 50th, too. “Come on,” they said. “Can you not figure out that he is going to do this every decade?”
“But I told him not to,” was my response. Imagine, I actually thought he would listen and take me seriously.
Instead, what he took seriously was that he was going to show me how much I was loved by the people in my life, and he was going to pull it off without me knowing about it. Doing it a week before my actual birthday worked well, but the whole “sage smudging” really threw me off the scent.
Actually I think I made this really easy for them. If memory serves me – and it often doesn’t these days but that’s another post – I think it was my idea to do a sage smudging at Larry and Tracey’s new home. Native Americans used sage smudging (the process of burning the dried plant and fanning the smoke over your body or throughout an area with sacred intention) as a simple and powerful way to clear an energy field and make room for new energy. It’s a cleansing, be it for a person, a place or an object. So Tracey said, great, let’s do it June 19th. Done. I’ll get the sage.
Let me tell you, the only thing smudged was my mascara.
At least once in a lifetime, every person should have the opportunity to hear what friends and family think about them and how much they are loved. At least once. It’s an amazing, powerful experience. Tracey pulled this off using her scrap booking prowess and finesse. She painstakingly mailed instructions with the necessary papers and return envelopes to my friends and family, who then took the time to write letters to moi and send them back to her with photos, which she then lovingly arranged into a scrapbook.
I’ve admired, and even envied, her family scrapbooks from afar. I never imagined I’d be the recipient of one. WOW.
I’m a little embarrassed about my reaction when I walked into their home at the start of the evening and was faced head on with the surprise. It’s an odd thing to have your mind firmly rooted in one idea and then, BLAMMO, in a flick of an instant that idea is shot to smithereens. My reaction time was slow on the uptake. Maybe it’s my age. But here I was, dressed in my earth mama, tealeaf reading, and hippie chick attire complete with peace sign necklace and babushka around the head, and I’m confronted with a room full of people staring. Gawking. At me. WTF. Understandably, that was my reaction.
Shoot, if I had a do over, I would have put my hands to my mouth and let out a squeal of surprise and excitement, maybe jumped up and down (if I weren’t wearing heavy 5 inch platforms that is). Instead, I felt like time stopped and I was slogging through mud while trying to grasp the sudden change in direction. (I hope I didn’t offend anyone in the process.)
What did compute was that my dear friends were there – some newer, some older, some waaaay older. Like Bill from college. COLLEGE. I had a friend from college at my 50th birthday party. See, it’s those things that remind me who I am when I forget. If someone who knew me 30 years ago still loves me, I must be okay.
Many of the friends and family who weren’t there were represented by their contributions in my AMAZING scrapbook. Did I mention how amazing it is? I stayed up until about 2 a.m. reading and rereading and savoring the comments and photos and memorabilia. Two of my friends are poets, who knew!?
It’s a little disconcerting how easily and thoroughly everyone lied to me. Straight-faced, no weird eye twitches or trying to hide a smile, lies. I think some people were just avoiding me because they knew they weren’t up for the charade.
Actually, as I look back on the days prior, there were a few little incidences that gave me pause. It’s like re-watching The Sixth Sense and seeing all the clues that were there for the viewers all along. I had my suspicions, but they weren’t for last night. They were for next week. Good one, Jay.
So, dear husband, thank you for not listening to me this time, or at least for realizing that, when you’re getting to be of a certain age, it’s especially important to be celebrated. I love you!
The fact that I was truly surprised surprised people. They figured since Jay had successfully thrown me 30th and 40th surprise parties that I would have known he was throwing me a 50th, too. “Come on,” they said. “Can you not figure out that he is going to do this every decade?”
“But I told him not to,” was my response. Imagine, I actually thought he would listen and take me seriously.
Instead, what he took seriously was that he was going to show me how much I was loved by the people in my life, and he was going to pull it off without me knowing about it. Doing it a week before my actual birthday worked well, but the whole “sage smudging” really threw me off the scent.
Actually I think I made this really easy for them. If memory serves me – and it often doesn’t these days but that’s another post – I think it was my idea to do a sage smudging at Larry and Tracey’s new home. Native Americans used sage smudging (the process of burning the dried plant and fanning the smoke over your body or throughout an area with sacred intention) as a simple and powerful way to clear an energy field and make room for new energy. It’s a cleansing, be it for a person, a place or an object. So Tracey said, great, let’s do it June 19th. Done. I’ll get the sage.
Let me tell you, the only thing smudged was my mascara.
At least once in a lifetime, every person should have the opportunity to hear what friends and family think about them and how much they are loved. At least once. It’s an amazing, powerful experience. Tracey pulled this off using her scrap booking prowess and finesse. She painstakingly mailed instructions with the necessary papers and return envelopes to my friends and family, who then took the time to write letters to moi and send them back to her with photos, which she then lovingly arranged into a scrapbook.
I’ve admired, and even envied, her family scrapbooks from afar. I never imagined I’d be the recipient of one. WOW.
I’m a little embarrassed about my reaction when I walked into their home at the start of the evening and was faced head on with the surprise. It’s an odd thing to have your mind firmly rooted in one idea and then, BLAMMO, in a flick of an instant that idea is shot to smithereens. My reaction time was slow on the uptake. Maybe it’s my age. But here I was, dressed in my earth mama, tealeaf reading, and hippie chick attire complete with peace sign necklace and babushka around the head, and I’m confronted with a room full of people staring. Gawking. At me. WTF. Understandably, that was my reaction.
Shoot, if I had a do over, I would have put my hands to my mouth and let out a squeal of surprise and excitement, maybe jumped up and down (if I weren’t wearing heavy 5 inch platforms that is). Instead, I felt like time stopped and I was slogging through mud while trying to grasp the sudden change in direction. (I hope I didn’t offend anyone in the process.)
What did compute was that my dear friends were there – some newer, some older, some waaaay older. Like Bill from college. COLLEGE. I had a friend from college at my 50th birthday party. See, it’s those things that remind me who I am when I forget. If someone who knew me 30 years ago still loves me, I must be okay.
Many of the friends and family who weren’t there were represented by their contributions in my AMAZING scrapbook. Did I mention how amazing it is? I stayed up until about 2 a.m. reading and rereading and savoring the comments and photos and memorabilia. Two of my friends are poets, who knew!?
It’s a little disconcerting how easily and thoroughly everyone lied to me. Straight-faced, no weird eye twitches or trying to hide a smile, lies. I think some people were just avoiding me because they knew they weren’t up for the charade.
Actually, as I look back on the days prior, there were a few little incidences that gave me pause. It’s like re-watching The Sixth Sense and seeing all the clues that were there for the viewers all along. I had my suspicions, but they weren’t for last night. They were for next week. Good one, Jay.
So, dear husband, thank you for not listening to me this time, or at least for realizing that, when you’re getting to be of a certain age, it’s especially important to be celebrated. I love you!