I had a birthday yesterday
dad shares the day with me
and clocked in at 85.
we havent had many adult birthdays together
so this one was special.
the kitchen was a hive of activity
stanley boiling baking heating simmering,
whites whipped and beaten to stiffness.
bec the chef of hors d’oeuvre
or as she calls them horse duvvies
turning out platter after platter
of smoked trout, goats cheese, olives ,prawns ,capers and finger lime combos
oily grilled eggplant and red capsicum ,
tipples of chilled white wine and fat yaks ,
presents opened and examined
there was meatballs ,pasta
and oyster bay sparkling wine.
there was quince and ricotta cheesecake ,
glenda chief bottlewasher and helper outer
got behing a hazelnut sponge cake with a fejoa cream filling.
john did his french cookbook thing that involves the old black marble top to his dressing table being cleaned up and brought in for serious chocolate scrolling.
photos were taken
don’t ask me,
I havent mistressed the addition of pics to this blog yet.
elsie held court on the pull out couch in the lounge room under piles of fluffy warmth
she was sick ,full of winter aches and chills.
Kingston spent a lot of the day in bed with her
reading books ,eating saos and playing
nothing could have made else feel better than a solid nephew love in.
John was hands on most of the day in the kitchen
in his loving food way.
jess said to him did you hear the phone ringing bonny?
and he said yes but I was stirring.
that is a man with a focus ,said jess, to let the phone ring out.
dad had the bestest time
swapping cheek with rob who never flinches
while telling a joke,
the master of deadpan .
I walked wallaby tracks
meandering and honouring this forest that enfolds me
that hears all my dreams and prayers
my griefs and joys
offering me strength and comfort
offering me reflection and growth
the laughter of this mob followed me
until I returned to the sunny afternoon spot beneath the elder angophora
soaking them up a while
before another wander
in another direction
for another story to be sung.
thanks john thanks bec thanks jess thanks greg who said great party sans, thanks elsie and the bright eyed boy
thanks glen and rob
thanks rosemary for popping in and having a cuppa
thanks dad for being here
thanks forest and water and air and earth
thanks for music and dance
thanks for breath and expression
thanks for art and heart and fire and food.
what can I say ?
or perhaps leave it to dad who tells me that when I was very very little girl I used to walk around chanting,
“I’m a lucky bitch …I’m a lucky bitch…”
and so I am.