Worst Birthday Ever (Dedicated to my under-30 friends)
The day I turned 25 was a drizzly bleak Tuesday in San Antonio, not cold but biting in the way that only Sunbelt cities can be in the grip of below-normal temperatures. I worked the 3-midnight police shift and Tuesday was my Friday. The first call of the day was a fatal fire on the West Side; two children had been killed. The fire was long over by the time I visited the site, but a sweetish smell hung in the air. At the time, I thought the odor was caused by something I didn’t want to contemplate, but many years and several fires later, I think it was probably insulation.
The rest of the shift was uneventful, but a bad car wreck came in just at quitting time. I was sent to the scene, just in case. A young woman, critically injured, was being cut out of her car with the jaws-of-life. It wasn’t the kind of story worth “flying” into the final edition, but I stayed to make sure she left the scene alive. The a.m. cop reporter would check her condition when he started his shift at 5.
I bought a pound of peanut M&M’s and went to my boyfriend’s house. I ate and cried, bemoaning my lot in life. I was a police reporter, working Fridays through Tuesdays. (Alas, police reporting was generally considered an entry-level position, so young reporters felt they must move beyond it. One smart fella I know resisted that conventional wisdom and built a brilliant career out of his decision to remain a cop reporter.) The San Antonio Light was a good paper, but it didn’t have a great rep, so it would be hard to move on. And if I had known where my current relationship was headed in the next 12 months, I would have cried harder.
Best Birthday Ever (Dedicated to my over-30 friends)
I got up earlier than usual, so I had written 1,500 words by 10 a.m. The work-in-progress is in the early stages, full of discoveries not unlike those in the beginning of a love affair. (“You like Chinese food? I like Chinese food!”) A character not even in the original scenario has appeared and whispered a fascinating secret in my ear. Meanwhile, the cops are cracking wise about Penelope Pitstop and the infamous “methane probe” from MANHUNTER.
I stopped at Cross Street Market, the one must-visit Baltimore locale for anyone coming to Bouchercon 2008. I bought tulips and dark-chocolate peanut clusters, walked home and fixed a mug of tea. My parents called and I’m grateful for the fact that they don’t sing to me, the way Amy Irving’s parents do in CROSSING DELANCEY. Later today, I will eat homemade squash soup, topped with almonds and shredded coconut. I’ll go to the gym, where I’ll do my Tuesday routine, 30 minutes on the elliptical, then however long it takes on the treadmill to get my mileage to a minimum of five miles. At some point, I should open my mother’s present, but I’m pretty sure it’s Fiestaware, a ritual that makes both of us happy. (She gets to cultivate antique dealers; I get more Fiestaware.) My oldest friend, Nancy, has sent me a foam Statue of Liberty crown, reminding me that I was once a kick-ass Statue of Liberty in our summer camp pageant, trained so well in immobility that I didn’t even flinch when an immigrant pinched me in the ass.
I’ve had extraordinary things happen on my birthday – the arrival of my acceptance into Northwestern (“It’s thick! It’s thick!” my friend and I screamed when we saw the envelope.); the news of an Edgar ® nom, the news that one of my short stories had been chosen for Best American Mystery Stories. But at this point, each birthday is the best birthday. Or, to quote the T-shirt sold by the National Museum of Funeral History in Houston: “Every day above ground is a good day.” Really, the only thing that could make this day better is if I owned CROSSING DELANCEY.
Send no cards, no gifts, no flowers, just share your own best and worst stories, please.
Joyeux Anniversaire!!
My best birthday has to be my thirteenth. My parents rented a limo to pick me and my 4 best friends up from school. From there it took us back to my house to change and then the 5 of us headed down to the Inner Harbor for shopping and dinner. Very grown up, plus we were the talk of the school for the next fifteen minutes
Can’t say that I’ve had a really bad birthday. There have been many that have been “quiet” and/or uneventful, but they all can’t be spectacular, can they?
Have a great day, Laura!
Best birthday was the year I turned 30. I spent the day taking my very last law school exam-a sufficient distraction from any trauma associated with turning 30 (which for me would otherwise have been a lot since I started fretting about getting old on my 16th birthday). The exam was followed by drinking lots of beer in Fells Point with law school buddies.
Oh, homemade squash soup w/ coconut and almonds sounds divine. Any chance of the recipe-or a source for the recipe?
I learned to make squash (or pumpkin soup) from Mark Bittman’s book, Cooking at Home with the Minamalist.
You need approximately 2 pounds pumpkin or winter squash, post-peeling. To peel, cut into wedges, then use a heavy, sharp knife, and don’t sweat if you lose some squash/pumpkin along the way. Put it in 4-5 cups of chicken broth (enough to cover) and bring to boil; reduce to simmer and cook, covered, for at least 30 minutes. If possible, allow to cool, then puree in blender.
The toasted almonds and coconut were my inspiration. And a dollop of sour cream doesn’t hurt.
I’m a big Bittman fan.
Sounds awesome and easy-thanks. I’ve done toasted almonds over wild rice soup, so I imagine that they will work over squash as well and squash soup is healthier!
Also, happy birthday! GO buy Crossing Delancy.
Happy birthday, Laura! Hope it’s a great one…
Best was my 40th. I was looking good, feeling good, my friends fussed over me (multiple times) – it was very satisfying.
Worst would’ve been somewhere in the 1987 – 88 time frame. Everything in my life was just crap, including my relationship, and it all sort of coalesced into a really yucky birthday.
And I’m sooo looking forward to the next one, because I’ll be in Paris – a real dream come true…..
The worst birthday had to be 2001. My two-years-older brother had died that June at age 50.
His birthday was Aug 4. Mine is Aug 12th.
Growing up, with birthdays eight days apart, what birthday parties we had were shared because of the proximity of days. Mom, however, was always careful to make the day itself belong to us. On my bday, I got to choose the dinner meal (spaghetti and meatballs!) and the flavor of cake (chocolate!) and, for the day, I was the princess, the shining star — which isn’t something that occurs more than once a year when you’re one of six.
As we got older, out of the house, every year the family would throw the joint bday parties we always resented as children. Sometimes we’d raise a faux fuss and insist on separate cakes, but the fuss was always faux. It was always good to get together, to celebrate, to realize that the sib you’d squabbled with as a kid had turned out to be someone you really liked.
In 2000, we threw him a huge party all his own, with old friends, presents from far-flung family, and candles he didn’t have to share. He’d been diagnosed with cancer in 1998 and although he was fighting a brilliant fight, he wasn’t going to make it much longer. Fifty’s a milestone. We celebrated.
In 2001 the candles on the cake were mine alone. No more setting up the candles for my brother, lighting, singing, blowing out the candles, taking two away, lighting, and singing once more for me.
2003 was also tough because I reached an age my brother had never been, not to mention an age far older than our two older sibs had ever reached. (They both died four years apart at age twenty-nine.) Bday 2003 I was the oldest for reals, number one of three for the forseen future instead of the fourth of six spot I’d grown up with.
I used to love birthdays as a kid. What’s not to like? Presents! Center of attention! One year older! Hooray!
They just aren’t the same.
But, you know, my brother would whack me ‘longside the head if he thought I was moping through the rest of my life’s birthdays because I missed him. I’m planning on making this year’s the best since he died, if not the best ever.
[didn't want to include this with the gloomy note above]
Happy bday, Laura.
You will always be much <em>much</em> younger than I am.
… and blonder.
… oh, and taller too, not to mention skinnier.
May we both continue on for many years with you catching up a bit each January, and me leaping back ahead in August.
Happy bday.
Happy Birthday, Laura!!!
My two worst birthdays were around when my sisters were getting married–one got married on the day after my birthday, so the rehearsal dinner was on my birthday, which stunk, basically. My other sister got married about a month after my 30th birthday–turning 30 sucked, my 2nd sister who’s younger than me was getting married, which also sucked, and my relationship (which lasted through both those weddings 4 years apart) hadn’t yet turned into an engagement. Needless to say, despite 7+ years with that guy, we didn’t get married.
My best birthday (so far…) was the year I turned 40–I threw myself a party at a local restaurant in their banquet room, had about 70 friends and family there, who were all ridiculously generous with gifts, and a DJ for dancing–it was a blast! And within 7 months after that, I started dating the man who I believe is the love of my life. So, yeah, life begins at forty!!!
!!!
Enjoy your day!
Patti
Happy Birthday Laura!
My best birthday was 3 years ago, when I turned 50. I actually had 3 celebrations. The week before my birthday, we had my son’s bar mitzvah, and an awesome party, with most of the people I wanted to celebrate with, including my sister’s family, who came all the way from Israel.
On my birthday, I went to Mid-Atlantic Mystery, where I ran into a colleague that I had no idea was interested in the mystery community.
And the next week, I travelled to San Antonio to visit my parents, then up to Austin for Bouchercon, which was the first mystery event that I travelled to, instead of just local events, thinking I was now 50 and deserved to treat myself!
Altogether a wonderful string of celebrations!
Happy birthday Laura!
My best birthday was when I was away for my junior year and went from the excavation in Colchester to London to stay with two new friends for and came back to the dig to find one of my best friends from the US had shown up.
Crossing Delancy-Peter Riegert is coming to the Avalon Theater in DC sometime soon. I buy pickles from a barrel at the kosher butcher- but there is no cute guy- just a pair of tongs.
Happy birthday, Laura- enjoy!
Getting in near the end, but HAPPY BIRTHDAY and I’ll sing out if need be.
I think my best birthday might have been one I don’t remember, but I call it that based on pictures. I spent my first birthday in Florida after my parents — in their crazy wisdom — decided it would be a good idea to drive down with me and my then 3 year old brother in the backseat. A three day drive from Ottawa. Evidently we were pretty quiet and happy campers thanks to endless looping Disney songs. Once we got there we stayed in a kosher hotel where I spent most of the time running around (free of nuclear Canadian winter and snowsuits!) and saying ‘hi’ to everybody. But the picture that really captured that whole time is a close-up of me at the actual birthday party. I’m holding a fork, there’s cake on the plate and some around my mouth, a party hat on my head, and a cat-as-a-canary expression on my face.
The birthdays since have been good for the most part, but I think I still want that original birthday cake.
Worst b/day. Turning 30 in 1984. I figured pureed food and plaid shorts with black socks was just around the corner. I was feeling pretty damn sorry for myself when I got a call from a friend of mine, a detective from one of the outlying townships. He had a subpoena with my name on it.
Best b/day. Turning 30 in 1984. Went to a bar called Paddy McGees. Met my buddy and some other guys from his department, picked up the subpoena and drank on their tab. Got home safe and sound, heard a knock on the door–it was the Amazon Queen. She’d brought me a present, one of those nifty little ZZ Top keychains that everybody wanted but nobody could find. Oh to be thirty again.
Happy birthday Laura. Hope it was all ZZ Top and free booze. [ And no plaid shorts with black socks.]
Don’t get “Crossing Delancey.” Get the <i>dress</i> from “Crossing Delancey.” And happy, happy birthday.
Happy Birthday, Laura! And many more…. Go out and get Crossing Delancy. You deserve it!
Happy Birthday!
My mother (who has a big heart but a terrible voice) sings to me every year. Thankfully, she doesn’t call at the same time I was born to recount the story (a la City Slickers).
Birthdays haven’t been that memorable, either good or bad. Just the inevitable slide down the slippery slope.
Buy Crossing Delancy…together with 84 Charring Cross Road…they make me wish I was Jewish and living in New York.
Happy Birthday!
The mother singing thing must be contagious. My mother would call me every year, at work, and leave the most horrendous off key version of Happy Birthday on my voice mail…and every year my co-workers and I would gather around my phone just to hear her sing.
My worst birthday was the year I turned 27. My birthday is in March, in February, on Valentine’s day no less, my engagement ended. A week later, I found out my department was being laid off. That year for my birthday, my parents came to visit me in Nashville…I think just to make sure I didn’t need to be institutionalized.
And if I had to pick a best birthday, I’d have to say it was the year I turned three. I had my first big girl party where everyone came to my house, wore party hats and got cake in ice cream in place cake and ice cream weren’t meant to go. I don’t completely remember, but I also think that’s the year I got a really cool red tricycle.
Happy birthday, Laura! And I promise not to sing…
Birthdays tend to be fairly nondescript, but if I had to pick a recent bad birthday, it would be my 40th, when I had to go for a Lyme disease test and then to my 6 p.m. to 2 a.m. shift on the copy desk. No one remembered it was my birthday, and my husband and daughter forgot to call me. My mother gave me a pair of earmuffs that she made (my birthday’s in August), continuing her tradition of giving me inappropriate gifts.
Best birthday? Two years ago. We were vacationing in Quebec City and my husband and daughter took me to a fantastic Spanish restaurant for paella and champagne and crepes Suzettes.
Happy Birthday! I promise not to sing either-why ruin your day?
Worst birthday? Never had one. Each one was accepted with thanks that I was still around.
Best birthday? All of them. But I must admit each one becomes increasingly expensive for my children who love to send me roses-one for each year. But oh, the lovely scents that fill my home!
So here’s many roses to you, Laura…
This not right on the mark, but close. My best birthday was in 1996 when I had my first birthday with my new kidney. February 6th will be my 10th!
People on waiting list for organs: 90,747 as of today at 1:20pm
Recycle yourself
Barbara
Sp far, my birthdays have all been pretty good. Since high school, my mom and I usually spend my birthday together and go shopping for my presents and go out to lunch. But next year I’m turning 30 and I think it could either be my best or my worst. if I’m still living at home and have no job prospects and haven’t moved any further in my writing career it may suck. But I suspect that even if nothing much changes I can look back on my last 30 years and be happy with how everything turned out. Now I’ll resist the urge to sing Tim Mcgraw’s “My Next 30 Years” (Which was actually written by Phil Vassar on his 30th birthday).
Many happy returns, Laura!
With an early-July birthday, mostly what I remember is extremes. The hailstorm (northern New Jersey) during my backyard 16th-birthday party. The ozone alert (in Chicago) on my 30-something birthday, one of those “don’t go outside unless you really have to” days. The oppressive heat on my 40th, in New York City, where the asphalt was actually gooey from the heat. And, unrelated to weather, the 35th birthday, spent on bedrest due to severe preeclampsia. (Eight days later I would receive a premature daughter for my belated ‘birthday’ present–she was born 12 weeks early but fine and healthy today–about the most extreme present I could have imagined.)
If it’s all the same, I’d rather stick to truly uneventful birthdays from now on. Not great, not awful; let’s just make them average, okay?
Happy Belated Laura, one of the best belated cards I ever got said on the front ” Sorry I missed your birthday” Inside it said “But, your still old as sh*t right?”
Best birthday was my 16th, had one of those parties where you invite one friend and they invite 3 more..I met so many new guys! Had pink champagne and thought I was hot stuff.
Worst was my 40th.. it was 2 weeks after my best friend and my rock, my Dad passed away.
This is the story of a best and worst birthday in one…
On a boring winter night I decided to improve my understanding of French by watching the dialogue in an online French chat room. I struck up a conversation with a guy named Dimitri. We chatted all through the night (in English) which led to occasional emails. That led to phone calls which led to his visit to Philly while seeing friends in New York at the end of summer. We had a wonderful time together and the phone calls started coming every day. We decided to get together for my 30th birthday in November in Paris.
I arrived in the morning, went to the Louve then strolled around the city, killing time until he arrived at the train station at the end of his work day. His train was delayed. By this time I was very hungry but wanted to wait because surely we would have a romantic dinner for my first night in Paris. With him, the would-be love of my life. I saw him get off his train walking with his head down. I felt like a character in a Danielle Steele novel. Maybe we would rush into each other’s arms and everyone would know how in love we were! What happened was this. I walked up to him, he seemed distracted and only a little pleased to see me. My heart sank. Then he told me that he had just gotten fired from his job that day. We spent our weekend in Paris- my birthday, in his apartment while he was so depressed I had to remind him to eat. I made tapes of his music while he phoned friend after friend, repeating the same story so that I was actually understanding the language! It was a birthday I will never forget.
Happy Belated to you Laura! Hope it was a great one.
Belated birthday greetings, Laura.
My worst birthdays will live on in a book some day. No need to recount them here.
But the best was my 30th. A bunch of friends took me to a kick ass cowboy bar. And my gift was any man in the room.Ah, decisions, decisions!
Louise
Happy Birthday, Laura!
Patti C, sounds like this man of yours is smart as well as fortunate.
)
Worst: My birthday is at the end of May, so every six years my birthday falls on Memorial Day. One year, in my late 20′s, most of my (so-called) friends were going away on a campout (to which I was not invited). They all said, “We’ll do your birthday when we get back.” None of them remembered.
Best: One year earlier. I was four months out of a bad relationship that ended badly. I was at the pool at my new apartment complex and I met eyes with a lovely lady across the pool. It didn’t last long, because she moved away, but it finally broke me from the past and propelled me toward the future.
i’m so behind. happy birthday Laura, truly. hope you had a GREAT day.
your squash soup? I think I need it. I’ll have to copy down that recipe up there or ask you later for tips. I tried to make my own pumpkin soup off the Food Network a few months ago and it was pretty sub-par. I’ve had some good pumpkin soup in my life and that was NOT it. (ha)
Happy happy birthday!
A spoonful of sour cream just before eating the soup makes all the difference. Just whisk it through and you get a creamier soup, but with relatively little fat.
But what an adventure, Vickie! My motto is: Root for happiness, settle for the anecdote.
I sense a “30th birthday” trend here. That was one of my favorites for sure. August 31, 1987: My dearest cousin Kate sent me a singing telegram and when he arrived, we were celebrating at my mother’s with pizza and cake. My son (who was 2 at the time) was on my lap, and I was laughing very hard at the funny things the singer was saying. (Kate had told him things from the past when we were kids, and it was just hilarious.) I love looking at that picture and remembering how good that felt.
Ten years later Princess Diana died on my birthday. Not the worst I guess, but it was not a good feeling to have that day, knowing she was killed. Now I get reminded of it every year since then.
I love “Crossing Delancey”, too. Why do I cry at the end EVERY TIME I WATCH IT when Amy Irving sits in the rocking chair and just starts to cry, because she thinks she screwed up her relationship with Peter Riegert once more??