I’m still celebrating my own birthday (which was last Tuesday), even though everyone else is over it.
On my actual birthday the weather was spectacular. My son met us at a new-to-me restaurant with a great waterside location. That’s obviously the parking lot side behind us in the picture, but we were looking out onto a lovely lake.
Turnpike Market in Billerica, MA has been nearby for years with this nice view and I had no idea.
The food was good too!
I like when a restaurant knows it’s my birthday, so my husband told them. They didn’t sing to me, but I did get to meet the owner and they sent out a lovely tiramisu for dessert.
Birthday flowers from my very thoughtful son
On Thursday, I got to see my daughter and my granddaughter. Yay!
Loved this gift so much!
And this ❤️
“Birthday week” continued last night with the opening of the new Steven Spielberg movie Disclosure Day. I got a delicious “Passion Star Martini” and fried dumplings beforehand.
Passion Star Martini: Tito’s Handmade Vodka, Licor 43, passion fruit liqueur, mango infused syrup, lime, sparkling wine float
Today I’m making my husband go to a downtown Boston art museum with me.
After that, I don’t think I’ll be able to play the birthday card again until next year.
I’m not sure which countries have the most spontaneous public singing and/or dancing—Brazil? Ghana?—but I wish we did more of that here.
I wish it would just happen in the grocery store and other ordinary places. For example, when it’s someone’s birthday in a restaurant, I think everyone should pause and help sing the birthday song.
During the closing credits of the movie The Sheep Detectives, which we saw in a full theater a couple weeks ago, they played I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers. The woman next to me started singing, so of course I joined her, then she stood up and started dancing too. Her kids did not seem at all embarrassed. It was great.
More of that please.
New Orleans gets it. They’ve got more people making music and dancing in the streets than any other US city I’ve ever visited.
I hate to be a Debbie Downer, but if I were you, I’d pass on visiting the US during the Trump administration. I really don’t think it’s safe for foreigners here at the moment. They’re even detaining the white ones.
I recommend going to Canada instead. It’s spectacular in the summer.
One of the great joys of being a grandma is singing with my granddaughter. And she can really carry a tune at age ONE, which is amazing to me. It turns out she likes a lot of the same songs her mother did thirty years ago. The all-time favorite is Baby Beluga by Raffi. This song will always make me smile.
From Claude:
Raffi Cavoukian, known simply as Raffi, is one of the most beloved children’s musicians of all time. Born in Egypt in 1948 and raised in Canada, he transformed children’s music with his 1976 debut album Singable Songs for the Very Young and went on to create iconic songs like “Baby Beluga,” “Banana Phone,” and “Shake My Sillies Out.” What set him apart was his genuine respect for young audiences — his music was engaging and wholesome without ever being condescending. Generations of children have grown up with his songs, and beyond music, he has been a dedicated advocate for child welfare and environmental stewardship.
I can accompany some nursery rhymes—like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star—on toy piano.
I was never much for saying “the early bird catches the worm.”
The only time I ever remember getting to work early was before smart phones in the late 80s. I had forgotten to set my clock back for daylight savings and I thought it was 9am on a Monday morning, when it was actually 8am. I ran into one of the senior executives (a super annoying one) and she said “you’re here EARLY” and I was like… what?
I made a real effort to make sure my kids were “on time” for school each day, with only a few “tardies” each year. My daughter took part in one auditioned choral group in middle school that rehearsed in the morning (before school) and it was NOT fun getting her there. Who the heck wants to sing at 7am?
And now that I’m a retired Grandma, I’m more of a three cups of coffee, then maybe I’ll do some kind of chore like go to the grocery store. In contrast, my husband is up and out to the gym at like 6am. He’s the early bird.
I’ve been married for 33 years and no, I don’t believe in soulmates. I don’t think there’s just one person out there for everyone. I think you could make things work with a number of different people.
My feeling in any relationship was always that if the good outweighs the bad, you should stay. If the bad outweighs the good, you’d be better off on your own. (I guess I’m a pragmatist, rather than a romantic.)
I think the concept of “soulmates” assumes someone else can or should “make you happy.” In reality, only you can make yourself happy. You are responsible for your own happiness.
Wedding photo in a cool frame made by an artist friend
I grew up on Sesame Street, Mr. Rogers, Free to Be You and Me, Zoom and Schoolhouse Rock. Even the rigid old Catholic Church (my nemesis) got a makeover in the 70s as a result of Vatican II. (Think felt banners and folk music). Also, I was a Camp Fire Girl, which was much more “hippie granola” than Girl Scouts.
Camping with the Camp Fire Girls in 1975
Granted Reagan and AIDS in the 80s put a dark tint on my rose-colored glasses, I still somehow believed we were headed toward a more perfect union where the “general welfare” was the goal.
Kids who grew up in the 70s have the Preamble to the Constitution lodged in their brains forever thanks to Schoolhouse Rock!
The election of Barack Obama in 2008 brought those old feelings back. Justice, equality, peace, happiness, community seemed achievable.
MLK’s vision of the Beloved Community resonated strongly with many 70s kids who also loved Sesame Street and other PBS shows promoting those ideals.
I now feel as if I was living in a highly privileged bubble, which has been unequivocally popped.
I’d like to stay positive for the sake of my kids and grandkids, but I just don’t know if we’re going to see anything like that in my lifetime.
We’ve gone so very far in the other direction.
A UFC Fighting Cage being erected at the White House in honor of the nation’s 250th birthday—kinda just says it all.
I try to have a “one in, one out” policy. For example, if I buy a pair of shoes, there’s probably at least one pair sitting in my closet that I never wear and can get rid of.
I like to keep things in balance and not accumulate.
How’s that for a minimalist answer?
This large pastel piece titled “Dark House” by an artist friend hangs in my family room.
I remember walking around in the airport in Paris—Charles De Gaulle—in December 1985. I was waiting for my flight back to Boston after my semester abroad in Rome. I was listening to my Sony Walkman, which had the songs that had been the soundtrack for the entire semester—Take on Me by A-Ha, Money for Nothing by Dire Straits, 99 Luftballons by the German band Nena.
I was hungover. I was sad. It was the end. Back to America. I knew it was going to be culture shock. So many things had happened that semester—some good, some bad—but all of it was new and exciting. I had traveled through Europe with friends, had a fling with a fellow student who was studying in France, been semi-stalked by an Italian guy, smoked hash and saw Sting perform live, been chased down the street by a very angry nun who was mad I’d let my friend use my roommate’s bed in the convent, been subjected to my first public masturbator (aka “The Jerk”), ordered entire meals in Italian, been awakened on a train by a French security guard who didn’t like my friend’s Filipino passport, got all my clothes destroyed by an Italian laundromat, and seen the most magnificent art and wonders of western civilization from the Mona Lisa to the Colosseum to Pompeii to the Vatican.
Walking through that airport felt like the last scene in a movie—a very 80s movie.
Here I am in Rome in 1985 with my short 80s hair and my friend Scott who was in my program with me. Scott was my close friend Carla’s boyfriend, but she was studying in cold old England for some reason. Girl Code obviously eliminated any chance of a fling with Scott, but he was so cute, right? Look at those legs.
This is the only American flag of any kind that I saw on my walk today, which is weird.
This was near the mailbox of a house that gives MAGA vibes.
I feel like Trump has ruined the nation’s big 250th birthday celebration. Nobody around here is in the mood. Between the fascist arch, the 1.8B slush fund for insurrectionists, skyrocketing fuel & healthcare prices, and the horrific reports from inside the immigrant detention centers, it’s hard to get hyped for the big party.