Birthdays

                                                                                    Birthdays

My blog topic this week is ... birthdays.

I chose this topic as it is the 'birthday-eve' for both my eldest child, Bella,  who will turn 17, and my husband, David, who will turn 'well-over-21'.

For me, birthdays race by and when I look back on them it feels like the famous scene from  the 1960 movie The Time Machine, based on the 1895 H.G.Wells novel by the same name, where the character H. George Wells, played by Rod Taylor, a man from Victorian England, sits in the time machine he has built and he travels to the future. Time-lapse photographic effects show the world, which can be viewed outside the window next to him,  rapidly changing.  Fashions, on the store-window mannequins  across the road, quickly modernise,  as the decades fly by, and even the buildings alter.  Life skips ahead … so fast.

For me, looking back on all of my own birthdays over the last almost-50 years - feels similar to this.  Life skips ahead … so fast.

The birthdays I recall come back to me, in my memories, in short scenes.  I recall glimpses of the colours, and the feelings, and the people.  The birthdays are like mile-stones along the freeway that is my life.  At each birthday memory I initially grow older and taller … and then ... I just grow older and, hopefully, wiser.  

Memories of my childhood birthdays - are  simple 'at home' affairs. Party games: pass-the-parcel, musical-chairs, hide and seek, chasey.  Party food:  a home-made birthday cake with candles, lollies, fairy-bread, cordial, sausage-rolls, tomato sauce, paper plates, paper party hats and balloons.  Children arrive at the birthday parties in their best clothes.  They  hand over  small, brightly wrapped presents.  These are usually the only toys we, as children, will receive all year.  So, they're extra special.  

The birthdays, during my childhood, mirror my life then: fairly relaxing and enjoyable; no study pressures, no peer pressures, no work pressures,  no  career worries, no financial worries, no children of my own to fret over.  I was a kid then.  Life, for me, was relatively easy.

Memories of my  teen birthdays are less happy.  These birthdays mirror  the more difficult and traumatic  events occurring in my life during those years.  Troubles between  my parents and me, troubles between my parents and my other siblings (my older sister was put in foster care from the age of 14), police visits when my parents fight each other,  my worries about fitting-in with my peers,  study pressures, difficult career decisions, and many other worries and stresses I have conveniently forgotten.  

These turmoils meant, for me -  and probably for  many other teenagers experiencing similar pressures with study/career/peers/growing up - that  these birthdays were less happy and, usually, a birthday party didn't happen at all.    I didn't want to bring friends home to the chaos that was my dysfunctional family.  My parents also, during these years, were either too pre-occupied with their own problems, to remember our birthdays, or, when they did remember, they were usually too angry with my siblings and me to allow, or arrange, a birthday party.  

Also, I  had only a small group of friends to invite, during my teens.  Does four or five people at a social-gathering constitute a party?  Probably not.  So …. parties were abandoned during these years.

However, I do recall having one birthday party, during my teens,  when I turned 18.   I can describe that birthday party in one word: awful!!  OK, maybe two words: 'Really awful!'  Even three words: 'really, really awful!'  I could go on with more words … but you get the gist.  I doubt you could add enough 'really' words to the word 'awful' to adequately capture the horror of that party.

My 18th birthday party was truly terrible!   I invited all of my  fellow 1st year medicine class from university.  And, just to intensify my humiliation, I also invited some of the cool 2cnd year Medicine uni-students.  Note that I had never arranged a party before.  My parents had arranged my birthday parties during my childhood, and I hadn't had a birthday party since I was 12.  

When I  say that I held a  party - I am using the word party very loosely.   Looking back, the 'social gathering' I had organised …by myself …. with no help from my family or friends …. was not so much a party as it was a miserable, poorly organised meeting of young people in a dark space, outside in the cold, with almost nothing to eat, almost nothing to drink, no alcohol (I couldn't afford any on my university-job wage plus I don't drink so I didn't know what to buy) and a tiny portable radio for musical entertainment.  I am not kidding.  That was what I arranged for my 18th birthday party: a couple of bowls of potato chips,  about three bottles of coke-a-cola, no lighting in my parents dark backyard - only a small kitchen window provided the completely inadequate hint of lighting  on that cold, moonless night.  Oh, and of course, there was also absolutely no outdoor furniture to sit down on . No chairs and  no tables.  

Many of my university class-mates came from wealthy families, with big houses in posh neighbourhoods.  Their parents were often lovely and friendly and inviting to their children's guests at their parties.  Their birthday parties involved pools, tennis courts, jacuzzi's, bar-b-ques, bon-fires, a stack of posh food, wine, beer, expensive stereo-systems … and they were wonderful and exciting and sophisticated extravaganzas.  Which only made my horror of a party even worse.

Needless to say, these guests sat on my parent's back-yard grass, which was dripping wet with dew,  sipping their coke-a-cola and partaking of my potato -chip offerings,  for about an hour - before they each made their polite excuses - and put us all out of our misery - by leaving.  And I don't blame them.  I had a miserable time too.  I wanted to get warm out of the cold as well.  Also, like them, I was starving hungry.  

I shudder to think what they all said after they left my party.  It was probably words to the effect: 'Poor Robyn. What a miserable life she does live.  But for the grace of God - there go we'.  They may have even left a small charitable donation for our poor family -  on their way out the door.  

Thankfully, for everyone, I attempted no more parties during my teens or, for my university friends, ever again.  Well, not until I got married in my early 20's.  And then I invited many of them just before we finished our intern year.  But, that was a marvelous party/celebration.  I redeemed myself.  But it wasn't a birthday-party. It was, however, a really great party.

On my 20th birthday -  I recall being glad that my pretty awful, difficult  teenage years were finally over.  I hoped that my 20's would be better than the last decade had been.  Fortunately - they were!  

In fact, I can now say that, so far, the teen years have been  the hardest and saddest years of my entire life.  From the onset of my 20's - life improved and it has continued to keep improving.   The teen years, however,  taught me about resilience and compassion for others -  after all the sad things I lived through then.  Those sad, lonely, traumatic years gave me a better  understanding of the hard times other people experience.  I can give other people, now, hope that bad times generally don't last forever.  Things do get better.  Good times come again.  It is important to maintain hope and faith that things will usually be OK - eventually.  Even if things don't always eventuate exactly as you planned.  Sometimes things can  work out better.

The birthdays of my 20's were nice - although again, I had no birthday parties during that decade. It was not because I had few friends - as  I had many close friends,  including my future husband and best friend, David, who I met at 21 years of age.  It was also not because  David wouldn't help me arrange a party, nor was it because I was too poor to buy food for a party.  I was working as a medical doctor from the age of 22.  My income was good.  I had no birthday parties, during my 20's, because I  was simply working too hard in the hospital to have time for one.  I worked  60 − 70 hours per week - as an intern, then as an RMO, then as a registrar in a specialty training program. During that decade  I don't recall ever having a birthday - on a day off work.

During the decade of my 20's, I would write the date of my birthday in my patient's medical notes, at the hospital, and only then, fleetingly, I would  remember that it was my birthday. Another year gone.  Another year over.  Another year older. That  moment of acknowledgment, that it was my birthday, would pass and I would  get back to work.   I would then  emerge from the hospital late that night - 7 pm or, every third night , on a 'take-night' - 11.30pm.  I would be exhausted.  I would  go home to study for my specialty exams, or study details about medical cases on the ward, or write medical  presentations  which I would give to colleagues at grand rounds, or I would write up journal articles about medical cases.   Finally, at around 11pm, I would go to bed.  To sleep.  

David would give me a thoughtful present on these birthdays.  From David it was always a really thoughtful gift. He would consider my interests (little chance for any interests while working 60 − 70 hour weeks), and my hobbies (ditto about any hobbies - with the long working-hours), and 'who' I was as a person (a blithering, exhausted mess - as I recall - while working those long hours).  He'd then order  the gift and wait weeks for it to arrive.  Or, he'd drive miles across the city, to some exotic shop, to buy me that  very special present.  

His gifts were lovely, stylish, tasteful, useful … perfect.  Unfortunately my presents for David were less … perfect.  My presents might be labelled 'thoughtless' and 'tasteless' and 'rushed'.  They could be correctly labelled thus - but that would be mean.  Correct.  Spot-on.  But still - mean.  So David  would graciously accept my birthday gifts for him:  soap-on-a-rope from Target, car-care products from Target, after-shave lotions from Target, chocolates from Target… and so forth - usually from Target. I love Target.  Evidently.  I have no problems at all with Target.  But my presents for David were simply - less inspired and less thoughtful than the birthday gifts I  received from him.  

Fortunately, I managed to convince David that my  rubbish-ability, or , more correctly, my complete lack of ability, in gift-giving was an inherent, genetically-determined disability for which I should be pittied, and for which I had no control.  I was not to blame for this inherited ailment.  It  was  beyond my control.  I was simply 'gift-giving-challenged'.  

David's expectations for my birthday presents for him, or for any presents from me, actually, has remained very low - fortunately.  I'm off the hook with regards to the boring, uninspired, cheap presents I buy him.  I am very lucky that so little is expected from lazy-old me with respect to gift-giving!

Back to the decades of birthday milestones - along the freeway that is my life - again:

The birthdays of my 30's were better. I passed my specialty exams in Paediatrics at 30 years old.  I would have no more major exams in medicine ever again. Hooray!!  I had my first child at 30 years old.  I would now work part-time.   I was  a mum.  I had begun to rethink all the ridiculously long hours spent within the prison-like confines of the hospital.  I began to remember, after becoming a mother,  what it felt  like to enjoy sunshine on my face, to feel  wind in my hair, to enjoy a good laugh, to  enjoy  … being alive.  I had felt like I was dying inside during my 20's - forever working in the hospital.  That was not who I really was.  I was pretending to be - someone else: a Physician.

James Taylor has a song with the opening lines exactly saying how I felt back then: 'You can play the game, you can act out the part … but you know it wasn't written for you.'

Exactly.  

So, after working part-time in Paediatric advance-training while also  being a mum to two small children - I finally left that job in the hospital forever - at 34 years of age!!  

A wise move - for me!

I was free to be me again.  The 20's decade of being perpetually in an over-worked fog of tiredness was over.  I was a civilian again.  I had re-entered civilian life.  I had left the war-zone of hospital life.  I was free.

During my 30's I had time and, somehow,  David and I also had  more money than we had in our over-worked 20's.  Our house, near the beach, was completely paid off when I was  34 years old.  No more debt. (Although we now have the debt of our medical clinic - but that is in our 40's.  The house is still paid off).  

David and I could now celebrate birthdays in restaurants.  We could be together on birthdays.  Birthdays were often - days off work!  These were happy times. Actually - they still are - in my 40's.  

During my 30's and 40's birthdays have also been shared with other friends - in couples.  We go to restaurants together,  and we all laugh and chat about old times that we've shared - over the decades.   They are old friends.  The kind of friends where, like a good bottle of wine,  the friendship improves with the years. 

Also, in my 30's and 40's, my dear children make me presents from cardboard and beads and dry macaroni and glue … and other 'precious' things they find.  They create beautiful birthday cards.  They write little speeches, in these cards, about how much they love me; more precious than money or jewels.  I keep my children's cards  for as long as I can ...  before I lose them.  I'm a bit messy - domestically-challenged - as well, I'm afraid.  But, I never lose these cards in my memories or in my heart. 

These wonderful, simple  birthdays reflect the happier, more contented place in which I exist  now, in my life, as I get older and probably wiser.

I  don't feel sad, on my birthdays, about growing older.  I feel fortunate to have had the life that I've had; good and bad times.  I've also had friends die over the last few decades, especially more recently, as we all get older into our middle age.  Instead of feeling sad to get older, I feel fortunate to be able to have more time, in my life, to do things and be with my friends and family for a bit longer.  

If I could choose to be 20 again - and live through all those times in my life again - I would choose not  to.  I'm happy to have done all those things, and I'm happy to now have the wisdom acquired through those experiences.  But I don't want to live them again.  I've done them.  I now look to the future. 

A very nice patient, in her late 70's, recently said to me: 'Name one good thing about getting old'.  She dared me to think of one thing.  She stood watching me and smiling - as if she had made her point about the annoyance of getting older.

'The alternative,' I responded.

'OK,' she smiled.  'There is that .'  She smiled at me - as she knew I was right. Touche' !

So, back to birthdays.  Tomorrow is the birthday of both my eldest child, Bella, and my husband, David.  

I've got David's presents:  chocolates and a technology magazine from Coles. I bought them both while 'grocery shopping'.  Shameless hussy - you all hiss!  And I deserve such retribution.  Although, in my defence, it isn't  socks and jocks at least.  It could be worse.  I bought him some really funny cards, as well,  from each of our children and from me.

Conversely, I  bought  my daughter, Bella,  about 30 presents!  I  even 'maxed-out' my credit card - so I didn't have enough available credit for my groceries today.  My daily credit card limit is $1000!  Oh, dear!  Fortunately, David doesn't read my blog.  So he will never know how much I spent on Bella's presents. Typical of most women, if he asks me about how much I spent - I'll tell him they were 'all on sale'.  Of course, they weren't.

Well, at least I saved money buying a cheap, I mean economical, present for David.

Actually, I did  get David a lovely, unique, and special  birthday present - once.  It was on his  birthday, 17 years ago.  I gave him, on that birthday, his first  child.  His beautiful daughter - Bella.  They share a birthday.

So, If  ever he were to complain about the thoughtless birthday presents I give him - I will remind him of that birthday present.   

I can still see David now, on that birthday: holding Bella;  looking down into her  little face as she lay in his arms, wrapped in  a white baby-blanket;  her tiny hand clutching his finger. He was besotted.  And he still is. 

That  was a good birthday - for both of them.

I hope tomorrow will be another nice birthday.

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                                                   Birthdays

The annual day when a person celebrates the anniversary their birth.

Birthdays are celebrated in numerous cultures - often with a gift, party, or 'rite of passage'.

In many parts of the world the birthday is celebrated with a specially made cake - usually decorated with lettering and the person's age.  Usually the cake is studded with lit candles representing the 'number' age of the individual.  

The celebrated individual will usually make a silent wish and try to blow out all of the candles with a single breath.  If successful, the tradition is that their wish will be granted.

In many cultures, the wish must be kept secret, or it wont 'come true'.

The song 'Happy Birthday'is the last stanza of Patty Hill and Mildred hill's famous song Good morning to you , unofficially titled Happy birthday to you.  This song is usually sung by guests at the birthday party.

Although an alternative version of this birthday song, much enjoyed in my family - and especially enjoyed by David (or so we hope) when the kids sing it to him: 'Happy birthday to you.  You live in a zoo.  You loooooook like a monkey.  And you smell like one too!

                                    *                                 *                              *

Tomorrow night I'll cook a special dinner for Bella and David.  Today I put a 'birthday banner' in the hall way, on the fretwork of our bungalow.  I've also hung balloons about the hall.  I'll make the birthday cakes - they always each get their own cake - both rich chocolate-cakes.  The recipe is an old family favourite.  A beautiful moist chocolate cake that takes less that ten minutes to make!

In case anyone would like the recipe, here it is.

If I ever have visitors - I can get this delicious cake  into the oven in ~ 7 minutes, and it is then cooked  in 35 minutes - as a large ring cake, or 15 minutes as 12 large or 24 small chocolate muffins.

                                     Chocolate cake - (fool-proof, fast, economical, yummy!! )

Ingredients

200g SR flour

6 level tbspn cocoa

125g butter or margarine

200g sugar

3/4 cup milk

2 eggs

1 tspn vanilla

1 pinch salt

Method

melt butter (OK in microwave) and cool (couple minutes is OK - while you get the other ingredients into bowl).  Pour remaining ingredients into a bowl.  Pour butter/margarine into bowl. Beat for 3  minutes with an electric mixer, if you have one, set on ~ medium, or just beat well with a wooden spoon or whisk.

For large cake:

Pour into a greased and floured 'ring tin' ideally (or just round tin).

Cook 35 minutes at 200C

For muffins:

For into 12 large or 24 small cup-cake tin ( with paper patty pans  or  greased and 

floured ).

Cook 15 minutes at 220C.

Enjoy.

A few last quotes about getting older:

* Middle age is having a choice of temptations and choosing the one that will get you home earlier

- Dan bennett

* Middle age is where a narrow waist and a broad mind begin to change places

-Glen Dorenbush (1930 − 1966)

* My memory is not as sharp as it used to be.  Also, my memory is not as sharp as it us to be. 

- John Wagner

* At my age I don't need drugs anymore.  I can get the same effect by standing up really fast.

- Jonathon Katz

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For anyone having a birthday:  'Happy Birthday!  I hope you have a lovely day and a healthy coming year with lots of good coffee, cake, conversations, cuddles,  chocolate and contentment'.  I think being content is a more realistic and lovely goal than simply being happy.  Happiness tends to be fleeting.  If happiness is persistent -  that is called 'mania'.

Contentment, however,  can last indefinitely - through the good and bad times.  It is more of a general gestalt  view of life.  It is a lovely mind-set  to have.

Next week I'll write a short story of fiction - with a birthday theme.

For everyone not having a birthday - have a lovely week.  Coffee, cake, 

sunshine, contentment … and kindness.  Bliss.