BIRTHDAY MANIFESTO

Because it's my birthday, darlings, and you're a captive audience (heart hands)

Photo by Chase Anderson

A birthday is a day to celebrate you. 
It's like the perfect pair of jeans,
hitting every green light on a drive,
warm sunsets on a patio,
checking the clock at 5:22,
your best friend's smile, or
that one Taylor Swift song,
you know the one.
 
A birthday is a day to celebrate you. 
Just you you you.
Do you need permission?
I'll give to you what
I give myself annually—
permission to celebrate me 
with gusto and grace,
pomp and circumstance,
confetti and candles,
sequin and sass,
with all my favorite things
befitting me.
My loves right there,
cheersing me:
salud! 
kanpai! 
prost!
here here!

And, well, actually, it is
just one day, or maybe 
birthday month.
One day is not too much, really,
for concentrated collective celebration,
unique to each of us—
a fingerprinted solar return.

I tell you, this is how you celebrate:
slowly, fondly, boldly.

I remember the year I turned 36.
I strolled Main Street, one hand in his,
my human love with blue eyes eyeing me. 
The other bound to my canine love, 
with a fluffy tail brushing each passersby.
They stop: ooohs and ahhhs 
and isn't he so pretty.
Sharing spotlight, of course,
is okay too—it is my day, my rules.
And he is a good boy.
So we continued, the three of us, strolling
slowly, slowly, slowly.

I drank too much coffee, 
but even more water.
36 years of wisdom telling me 
to hydrate on that sunny day. 
An avalanche of texts and calls.
My mother singing:
happy birthday to you, 
happy birthday to you,
happy birthday Cassie Sue.
My best friend smiling from afar:
I am grateful for you every day.
My sister by choice saying:
I can’t wait to see you soon.
His blue eyes on me, again:
happy birthday, my love, he said
fondly, fondly, fondly.

That day, in rolling Walla Walla wine fields, 
laughter and satiated sighs echoed,
the Washington sun kissed our skin.
Windows down, my hand riding the waves.
To my side: those blue eyes behind aviators.
In the rearview: ears flapping, tongue lolling.
These are the morsels perfectly paired with 
sips of wine I love,
or maybe a Manhattan, served up.
And definitely, most definitely,
pomme frites and oysters relished
boldly, boldly, boldly.

Thank you for the wishes.
I have many of my own.
One is to celebrate yours 
with gusto and grace,
pomp and circumstance,
confetti and candles,
sequin and sass,
with all your favorite things
befitting you.
I’ll be right there.
Cheersing you, as you cheersed me:
salud! 
kanpai! 
prost!
here here!

Raising a glass of wine I love,
or maybe a Manhattan, served up.
With a red-lipped smile.
Open-mouthed,
Clear-eyed,
laughs and stories spilling out, effortlessly.
Because it is me, 
toasting you as we should, in a way
fit for the queen of her own universe:
slowly, fondly, boldly.

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