I don’t usually make a big deal out of my birthday. I tend to be proud of myself when I make it through the second week of January and nobody at work has realized it’s gone by. But since I’ll never get around to writing anything meaningful to every person who sent me some kind of message today, I figured I’d make a mention of it here.
By the time I came home for brunch between church services today, I had birthday messages from 5 countries on three continents. Yeah. By 10:15. I won’t even list off States, but they streched from California to Vermont and Florida to Washington state, representing friends, family, and friends that feel like family.
Sophia and I were talking the other day about getting facebook messages from people you’d otherwise hardly ever talk to. But much as I laughed at some of them, it was really cool to realize how many places and times and stages of my life were represented by the pile of little “Happy Birthday” and “Feliz Cumpleaños” posts, e-mails, and phone calls I got. There were even text messages from Mississippi, California, and Taznakht, Morocco in there. A text message from Morocco, people. Holy crap.
I also feel like twenty-three is a good age. Seems like every third rock band writes a song about (or at least mentioning) age twenty-three. Plus I got to play guitar all day and eat quesadillas three times within 23 hours. And it’s the last birthday I’ll celebrate in this country for at least 729 days. So all together, it was great. Thanks for all the birthday wishes.
Yes, and I failed to get a call into you before I put my kids to bed (at which point I promptly passed out)
Happy Birthday Dear Cousin!!!