I had a birthday yesterday

55,

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

hugs exchanged.

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

offering….

me.

 

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.