Birthday Lasagna

Yes, tomorrow is my birthday.  Sorry for the reflexive whining on the subject in today’s previous post. I’m afraid this post won’t be much better in spirit.

 

But birthdays and I do not have a good working relationship. I really don’t want it to be a big deal. Mostly because it’s never been a big deal. I have never had a birthday party. Ever. Not even when I was young. Now that I’m old person, I sure as hell wouldn’t want one now. And who would attend if there was a party. I really don’t have any friends. Well., not the type who would make time out of their schedules to come a party for me.

 

The closest I ever came to a party was about 40 years ago. I was in a church youth group thing that met on Sunday nights. Parents would take turns providing food. One Sunday night happened to fall on my birthday and it was my mom’s turn to provide dinner. She made lasagna. She made a really great lasagna.

 

Now, I need to clarify that my mom happening to be on rotation to provide dinner to the youth group which happened to be on my birthday was very much a coincidence. There was no secret plan to provide me with a stealth birthday party with a captive audience. It just worked out that way.

 

So other than that lasagna dinner 4 decades ago, I’ve never had a party.

 

Once you get to a certain age, birthday parties are really not cool. When you’re young, it’s a celebration of reaching a milestone that  will lead to new accomplishments. “Yeah, you’re old enough to go to school now.” “You can get a driver’s license now.” “You’re going to graduate from high school and go to college.”

 

By the time you hit 30, you become more aware of the opportunities lost and a shrinking window to accomplish anything. “Great! I’m 30 and I’m still not married, I don’t have kids, I’m still wearing t-shirts from my junior year of college and I really need to look into getting my own place.” Starting at 30, life becomes a countdown.

 

At 40, you realize twenty years ago, you just wanted to get laid, get drunk, get high and get laid again.

At 40, you realize twenty years from now, your junk won’t work, you’ll be on so many meds, you’ll be staring down retirement and oh my God, my junk won’t work?

 

Yeah, there’s not a lot of incentive to party. You just mutter miserably to yourself, “It’s my birthday? Big fucking deal. Just closer to death, that’s all that means.” 

 

Well, that’s how I approach it. 

 

So tomorrow is my birthday. I will be 55 years old. Physically, I’m feeling every single damn day of it, especially in my knees. Mentally, I’m stuck about 4 decades back.

 

I miss my mom and I miss her lasagna. She made really good lasagna.