It's cake season at the Solomon house, my favorite time of year! We'll be celebrating three family birthdays in a period of twenty days, beginning this Friday with mine. (I've sensibly scheduled my Jenny Craig weigh-in for Thursday.) If I play my cake correctly, I'll be eating some every day until Rosh Hashanah, which is sometimes called "the birthday of the world." That should extend my cake streak until almost Yom Kippur--the Day of Atonement.
I love cake. My favorite is chocolate, with white buttercream frosting. It does not have to be from an expensive bakery, and it does not even need to be particularly fresh. In fact, my favorite is the day old cake I eat for breakfast, when it has been in the refrigerator overnight and the frosting is coagulated the way I imagine it will soon be in my arteries.
A few days before my birthday, my husband usually starts asking me peculiar questions. "Have you ever wanted to bake your own bread?" or "Wouldn't it be cool to have a wet suit?" I know he is trying to figure out what to get me. In our early years together I thought that if he really loved me, he would know my heart's desires. That is simply false. They should tell you this at the wedding.
A few years ago, we celebrated my birthday at a great restaurant with both our sons. The boys each gave me a homemade card, which is, frankly, the only gift I ever want. My husband produced a big box with a bow from Nordstrom. I unwrapped the present and found a lovely print dress from a popular designer. The only problem was that he had given me the very same dress a few months earlier for Mother's Day. This made me laugh so hard and for so long that I consider it to be the very best gift he ever gave me.
I don't really care that I am getting older. I know some women who lie about their age, which I have done, but not on purpose-- I just can't always remember how old I am. 52? 53? What difference does it make? It's not like anyone ever asks me. I was born in 1959--if you want to know how old I am, get a calculator.
In celebration of my advanced age, I've decided to start adding the phrase, "God willing!" to the end of every sentence. For example, "I won't have to cook on Friday because we're going out to dinner for my birthday, God willing!" "My husband is getting me a big, expensive gift this year, God willing!" I've noticed that a lot of older people do this, recognizing that life is uncertain. I shouldn't assume I'll always be in control of my destiny, especially if I keep eating so many cakes.
I used to expect everyone to make a fuss over me for my birthday, but no one throws you a party when you turn 54. I am not that crazy about getting older, but what's the alternative? My 92-year-old mother-in-law is the expert at aging, and she always says, "Keep counting!" To which I say, "I will, God willing!"
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