Birthdays should be happy occasions. Some we hardly remember, some we eagerly anticipate, some we count, some we try to forget, some we dread. I was dreading this one.
At breakfast, the card on my plate read:
For my wife
It's love that builds a happy home, It's love that warms each day,
It's love that follows every dream - It's love that shows the way.
You're the one I want to come home to forever - the one I'll always love.
Happy Birthday. Don
It made me cry, and so happy.
When I was little, birthdays were eagerly anticipated. The cake, the presents, the cards and maybe a party. Birthday parties for friends and family were always joyous occasions.
Birthdays meant a meal of your favorite foods and birthday cake and presents.
Mom would ask what kind of cake we wanted. My original favorite was a two-layer chocolate cake with white sticky frosting. Sometimes it was white cake, sometimes Angel food with frosting or with Danish dessert for a topping or crumb cake with strawberries or raspberries. Sometimes even ice cream on the side. One year, mom made me a doll cake. Remember them - a doll stood in the middle of the cake and the frosting made the skirt decorations?
My brothers would ask for different kinds. There were bunny rabbit shapes, one-layer, two-layer, three-layer, and trucks made from loaf type Angel food cake with Hershey bar windshields and Life Saver headlights and Oreo cookie tires and lots of frosting. Once, even a Boston creme pie.
When I turned 16, my parents gave me a Bible for my birthday. I still have it and read it.
I purchased my first car close to my 18th birthday. I had spent the summer riding with two sisters to my first job. I soon decided I needed my own car as the girls constantly fought on the way to work and sometimes we were a little late.
I didn't celebrate turning 21 with a drink. Twenty-five didn't bother me. Thirty was so-so. Forty was interesting. Fifty, I'm over the hill.
Now it's the big 60. I can hardly say it. Do I feel different? Sort of.
Maybe that's the reason I don't always remember the details. Maybe that's the reason some things don't work as well as they used to.
I recall my grandmother saying she always enjoyed working with young people because it made her feel younger. I enjoy working with young people, too. It does make you feel younger (and sometimes really old).
When my mom turned 80, my siblings and I planned a big party for her and it was so much fun. She is my role model. Will I be as active, as interested in the world and as independent?
I was contemplating this birthday and realized my little brother will turn 50 in about a year and a half. I remember quite well making cookies and serving Kool-aid in my china teapot to my brothers using the piano bench for a table when we were little. Now we talk about grandchildren. My sister is collecting Social Security. Where has the time gone?
This year I made my own birthday cake. Not quite so fancy as a doll in the middle, but I thought it was delicious. One layer, Red Devil's Food with chocolate buttercream frosting.
- Jean Woodruff is news clerk for The Monroe Times. She can be reached at
newsclerk@themonroetimes.com.
At breakfast, the card on my plate read:
For my wife
It's love that builds a happy home, It's love that warms each day,
It's love that follows every dream - It's love that shows the way.
You're the one I want to come home to forever - the one I'll always love.
Happy Birthday. Don
It made me cry, and so happy.
When I was little, birthdays were eagerly anticipated. The cake, the presents, the cards and maybe a party. Birthday parties for friends and family were always joyous occasions.
Birthdays meant a meal of your favorite foods and birthday cake and presents.
Mom would ask what kind of cake we wanted. My original favorite was a two-layer chocolate cake with white sticky frosting. Sometimes it was white cake, sometimes Angel food with frosting or with Danish dessert for a topping or crumb cake with strawberries or raspberries. Sometimes even ice cream on the side. One year, mom made me a doll cake. Remember them - a doll stood in the middle of the cake and the frosting made the skirt decorations?
My brothers would ask for different kinds. There were bunny rabbit shapes, one-layer, two-layer, three-layer, and trucks made from loaf type Angel food cake with Hershey bar windshields and Life Saver headlights and Oreo cookie tires and lots of frosting. Once, even a Boston creme pie.
When I turned 16, my parents gave me a Bible for my birthday. I still have it and read it.
I purchased my first car close to my 18th birthday. I had spent the summer riding with two sisters to my first job. I soon decided I needed my own car as the girls constantly fought on the way to work and sometimes we were a little late.
I didn't celebrate turning 21 with a drink. Twenty-five didn't bother me. Thirty was so-so. Forty was interesting. Fifty, I'm over the hill.
Now it's the big 60. I can hardly say it. Do I feel different? Sort of.
Maybe that's the reason I don't always remember the details. Maybe that's the reason some things don't work as well as they used to.
I recall my grandmother saying she always enjoyed working with young people because it made her feel younger. I enjoy working with young people, too. It does make you feel younger (and sometimes really old).
When my mom turned 80, my siblings and I planned a big party for her and it was so much fun. She is my role model. Will I be as active, as interested in the world and as independent?
I was contemplating this birthday and realized my little brother will turn 50 in about a year and a half. I remember quite well making cookies and serving Kool-aid in my china teapot to my brothers using the piano bench for a table when we were little. Now we talk about grandchildren. My sister is collecting Social Security. Where has the time gone?
This year I made my own birthday cake. Not quite so fancy as a doll in the middle, but I thought it was delicious. One layer, Red Devil's Food with chocolate buttercream frosting.
- Jean Woodruff is news clerk for The Monroe Times. She can be reached at
newsclerk@themonroetimes.com.
