Belgians and Birthdays

Belgian Humor

My cousin, Mary is one of the funniest people I know. Like me, she is often overcome by how funny she thinks she is. This week she called three times to get me to open a birthday card she bought for me several months ago. In the second call, she was overcome by her cleverness and, frankly, through her snorts and giggling I could barely understand what she said. When I opened the card, however, I got the joke. On the cover, the card says, " This wouldn't be LATE if we lived in Belgium, where they celebrate birthdays with festivals lasting a many months. There is no need to look htis up, either. It's true." The inside says, "Happy Belgian Birthday!" Of course, the funniest thing is that it came three days early. I laughed and laughed. It's a Belgian thing.

Birthday 2010: Phase 1

My Dad used to explain away any unexplainable oddities about my Mother with the ecuse that she is Lithuanian. But when it comes to long birthdays, though, Mom must have inherited the prolonged Belgian birthday gene by associations -- because she is one of the greatest proponents of extended celebrations. Her package kicked off this year's birthday marathon first and about five days early. Mom sent two table runners she'd made and a pot holder. In her excitement over the new found pattern, she even sent handwritten instructions on how to make them.

Birthday 2010: Phase 2

In her honorary role of big sister, Kathy Krusiec rallied a group of friends to call me on St. Patrick's Day. None of us know why she thought my birthday was a week and a half early, but we all got a kick out of it. When I got home that day, there were white tulips on my doorstep. Before I saw the card, I thought perhaps St. Patty's day was a big deal here. But it turned out that Ellen Bernards had also been swept up in Kathy's birthday crusade. So I got calls and singing messages, flowers, and cards. And a week and a half before the actual event.

Birthday 2010: Phase 3

I usually have birthday dinner with the boys and celebrate with Krusiecs on a surrounding day then extend the festivities a week or two more with friend lunches and dinners. This year, I expected a dramatic change to the ceaseless celebration until Bonnie Neal said she was coming for the festivities so that I wouldn't be lonesome. Did I mention that I have the best friends in the world?!

The Fine Adventures of Bonnie and Donna

So I planned a day and a half off of work to cavort with Bonnie who arrived at Dayton International Airport on Thurday afternoon looking like she was on her way to Orlando. Bonnie believes in the power of intentions, but sweety, even the most focused wishes won't make March in to July. Nevertheless, I tried to assure her that the hour and a half downpour would subside--that the skies would open

--and that the sun would come out tomorrow (tomorrow, tomorrow...). On the way into town, we stopped at Trader Joe's for staples. Those guys are so fun! I got a pot of birthday daffodils from my clerk and another bunch of sunflowers from the manager.

Since neither of us had eaten all day, I took her to Frampton's favorite watering hole in Mariemont, the Dilly Deli, which is now MY favorite fish and chips place. No, Peter, did not show. But we didn't care. There was Plungerhead Red Zinfandel and lavendar creme brulee. I also requested the business card of a great jazz guitarist who was the evening's entertainment. Bonnie had arranged a birthday reading with a psychic nearby--which was a trip and established that my soulmate is a compassionate soul who has something to do with baseball in the Cincinnati area. OK. Stayed tuned for that one.

The best part of the weekend was forgetting that I am a responsible professional--and then staying up until 1:30am eating finger food and watching "The Blind Side."

March 26th

Did we rest after our ambitious Thursday? Of course not, we sat still long enough to eat the European breakfast that Bonnie prepared and field some well wishes on the phone and internet. Mom called as she always does on my birthday and, as I always do on my birthday, I asked her what she was doing on this day however many years ago it is. As she always does, she regaled me with the time honored story of my birth--forceps, chicken pox, and quarantine. An auspicious beginning. Yes, she had chicken pox and was quarantined for my delivery. I lost all my hair and was covered with scabs at 3 days. Nevertheless, Mom did not feed me to the farm animals though she had a terrible case of post-partum--and, she reports that I was a good baby.

When the friends and family calls hit a lull, we headed out for the Snooty Fox where Kathy told me a gift certificate was waiting. I didn't expect to use it immediately--but how could I resist the Danish modern teak chairs and ginger jar shaped brass lamps (along with a 20% sale discount and my 10% Platinum Snooty card--why they were nearly free!)

Anxious to get to the Duck Creek Antique Mall (much lauded by the Institute's deputy director), we promised the snooty's we would figure out how to transport my treasures later. Duck Creek was all it was promised to be. In her fully intentioned state, Bonnie immediately found the perfect coffee table to go with the chairs and I got a Rosemary Clooney autobiography and a sale bracelet. Bonnie was fairly giddy about her good fortune finding a stash of lace for her latest art project.

The Duck Creek tour took us into the noon hour. On the verge of shopping fatigue, we headed down the road to a great deli in O'Bryonsville called "What's For Dinner?" Saw the Institute director there and his wife, Velma. Though the spinach souffle and quiche were wonderful, our real purpose for visiting O'Bryonsville was to indulge at the Bon Bonerie. Ooh la la! I had been introduced to their fabulous French pastries by my neighbors, Isabelle and Jarrod, who brought a luscious selection to my first dinner party. Bonnie wanted to buy a birthday cake, but in the end, we walked out with a decadent selection of finger pastries and visions of stretch pants and roomy tunics.

About midafternoon, we headed back to recover before the evening festivities which began at 5pm with my realtor and a glass of wine. Andrew has become my first true Mariemont friend and he was delighted to get together and know that we would not be commiserating over some recent misfortune at Mt. Muchmore. He got to meet Bonnie and we had a great time that ended with an invitation for me to join his family's Passover celebration this week.

Mindful of the time, Bonnie and I said adieu and headed downtown for Final Friday. This is a regular event where 60 artists with studios in a rennovated warehouse open their doors, provide a spread of wine and cheese, and invite the public to see and buy what they've been working on. We only made it through 2 of the 6 floors because we had 7:30 reservations at The Celestial, one of Cincinnati's premiere restaurants. I believed the restaurant to be in an imposing monastery on top of Mt. Adams. Imagine our confusion when we parked at the bottom of the hill and saw only a neglected wrought iron staircase winding to the top. Not to be deterred, I led Bonnie (and her rebuilt knees) up the steep staircase only to find out from a good Samaritan at the top that the restaurant was actually in the high rise across the street. I have already prepared myself that this mistake will be woven into the folklore of our friendship to be revisited for who knows how long.

Suffice it to say, we made it and enjoyed a fabulous view of downtown and one of the best meals I can remember. After dinner, we had planned to check out the Blue Wisp jazz club downtown, but put that on the back burner for another time. Merrill, my gps, had been acting up since Bonnie arrived. Her penchant for taking us to deadends and refusing to talk to me about upcoming turns had made me nervous about staying downtown late. Bonnie feels Merrill was jealous and felt slighted when we left her for dinner. Some may question the amount of wine Bonnie and I had at dinner, but we both thought it was Merrill who was slurring her directions on the way home. In the end, it seemed safer to go back and watch a movie rather than to entrust our safety to a gps with attachment issues on a possible bender.

You'd have thought we might consider a down day on Saturday but, oh contrare, our ambitions had not waned and we headed out to see the northern Kentucky horse farms and see if we could find more any other great antique shops. We wound up in Lexington where the trinkets were beyond our impulsive pocketbooks. The architecture, however, was worth the drive as was the lovely and magnificent fountain wall downtown. By late afternoon, we were beat. We pulled in at Muchmore around 8pm. After another movie and a debriefing of our weekend adventures, we realized that the playdate was almost over.

As if signaling the end of the junket, it began to rain this morning. I was sad to see Bonnie off but ever so grateful for the company and a wonderful birthday adventure. The plan had been to go home directly from the airport and recover from all the running, but we'd eyed the Dayton Art Institute on the way in and as long as I was there--figured I should see it. The collections are modest in comparison to Chicago and Cincinnati but what a lovely, quiet retreat. I found a Belgian by the name of Van Rysellburg in the Impressionists and saw some similarities to my own style. Mostly, I liked the building itself with its tile roof, Italian courtyard, and sleek outdoor sculpture.

On the way home, I thought about how lucky I am. Thanks for remembering me with all the cards, calls, gifts, and good wishes you took the time to send. It was one of the best birthdays I have had. As I approached the edge of town, the sun began to creeop through. The rain and sun had coaxed open the magnolias and the hils were bright with yellow forsythia and golden daffodils. To me, spring is trule the season of beginnings. I've always loved the fact that each year of my life starts with the promise of possiblity. And, so I begin my 58th year in Cincinnati. I believe it is a year that will bring happiness, company, and much more.