"I can't even get a table!" she announced gleefully.
Mr. Moon and I were having none of that. We went directly to the bar where we scored two seats next to a woman I know who, before greetings were even accomplished, said, "I'm seventeen weeks pregnant!"
I had always thought of this woman as sort of a contemporary. I mean, I knew she was younger but how much younger? Turns out she's forty-eight and yes, she's going to have a baby. She's in her first marriage and now she's going to have her first baby. And this was entirely nature's course.
I congratulated her. Then I told her that my only suggestion is that after the baby is born, she really has to sleep when the baby sleeps.
But honestly? I'm boggled.
One can't help but do the math. Ah well, she has good genes. It's going to be amazing!
So then that restaurant filled up and overflowed and people were waiting and it got hot and it got fuller and it got hotter and I think they had one server and you had to lasso someone to get a beer or a menu and then the Cicada Ladies showed up and they were darling, darling, darling.
I think I am biting her there.
Before they took the stage, the principal for the high school which the girls attended was there, their beloved music teacher from that same school (SAIL high school), old friends of mine from way, way back in the olden days, former neighbors, current neighbors, Hank and his posse, May and Matt and Lily and Jason and Owen and Gibson.
And about a hundred other people in a room that seats forty-two.
The sound was not great (Jessie informed me that it was her dad's and my fault because we were talking too much), the room was buzzing, it was hot (did I mention it was hot?) and at one point I realized that sweat was running down my back.
Owen and Gibson did pretty well, considering the circumstances. Owen even danced with me a little bit. Grudgingly. Here he is in his Auntie May's arms.
He wasn't really as upset as he looks there.
And Gibson in his grandfather's arms. In the past thirty-six hours, Gibson has discovered the pacifier and has decided that it is his new favorite thing in life.
Lord. It was an evening. People either got served and ate and left, or didn't get served and left, or got served and ate and didn't leave, or didn't get served and didn't leave and they put signs up on the door saying they were full, come back again another time but people were still coming in.
It was a good birthday. I got to see all my babies, I got to see my grandbabies. I got to see old friends and reconnect. People bought CD's. People enjoyed the music tremendously. Some people got to eat and everyone seemed to be able to wrangle beers. Well, almost everyone. (Sorry Hank and your posse.)
We even got supper, although by the time we got home, I was hungry as hell again. I threatened to cook a frozen pizza but by the time I'd cleaned up the mess which occurred after the dogs got into my birthday chocolate and espresso truffles, I'd lost my appetite.
Once again, we have proved that chocolate will not kill dogs. Not even if it is combined with espresso. It will, however, cause gastric distress.
And now I've made Extremely Healthful Pancakes and I feel disgustingly well and there's a memorial thing going on tonight for a musician who died at the beginning of the month who used to play with my ex when Hank was born and I was told by at least a half dozen people last night that I HAVE to go and May's going and Jessie says she wants to go and so does Lily. Believe it or not.
I might. I just might. Two nights out in a row? What is this world coming to?
Well, as I said last night, I am still alive. And you know, not all of us are.
I sure do thank everyone for all the beautiful birthday wishes. I felt quite loved and cherished and I still do.
Sunday morning and I am well and truly fifty-eight years old and it is Madame Radish King's birthday today and I am wishing her love from all the way across this continent.
We get older, all of us, each and every day until the day we do not. I guess that until then, we might as well dance and let the sweat run down our backs and talk too much and kiss and hug and listen to music or play music as our gifts may dictate or not.
What the hell else can we do?