My oh My, It's My Birthday

At what point are we supposed to start not wanting to grow older anymore? Twenty? Forty? Sixty? I couldn't answer that, since I've honestly never really given my age that much thought. Sure, I am not actually delighted at the inevitability of the toll the gravity is taking on my body. I notice that scars take longer to heal, which means that I no longer have the supple, quickly self-renewing skin of the young. Note to my dear dermatologist. The biopsy sites you said would leave no scars? Well there are now two huge craters on my cheek to top off the ongoing butterfly rash. Cute. I have wrinkles. Of course I do. Show me a person nearing forty with none and I'll show you a person with a close personal relationship with Botox and Restylane. But should I be having a major crisis because of this? Because of a set of numbers? Because of some grooves that have found their way on my face?

On the contrary. The older I get the more free I feel. I used to actually actively want to be forty or fifty, or seventy for that matter. And while I no longer actually wish I was older, simply because of the health issues it now implies for me, I am also certainly not bothered by my ever increasing number of years. I also don't think I look younger than I am. And I don't feel that I should. I haven't been asked for my ID when buying alcohol since, well, when I actually should not have been doing that in the first place. I know of some contemporaries of mine who still get 'carded'. Good for them, I guess. I, on the other hand, would absolutely adore to be more like the truly old grannies who just do as they please, dress as they see fit and don't give a hoot about what anyone might think of them. And yes, maybe to some these lovely ladies don't even really exist, they're invisible. Flying just too low on the radar. After all, you hear about it all the time now. How women say that when they get older they start feeling more 'invisible'. Well now. How I feel about that depends wholly on what kind of attention we are talking about being invisible from. Don't really necessarily see the problem there.

And of course, there's always the rest of my life to spend arranging flowers. 

So, it's my birthday. My 37th birthday. And because it's a birthday it would call for a cake. I wanted to make an MMF covered daisy cake. Just as I wanted to make MMF covered cupcakes. So I went hunting for white marshmallows. Mission failed. They are nowhere to be found. You see, this really is a veeeery small town. And as I'm not a big fan of marzipan I am postponing my future dalliances with MMF and other rolled fondant type cake coverings until I can get my hands on some white fluffies. But something had to be done surely. The sun was shining. The lemons were beckoning from the kitchen table, and there was some whipping cream waiting to go sour in the fridge. So, Sunny Lemon Cupcakes it was.

I used this Lemon Cupcake Recipe to make the base. When the cakes were done, I carved out a dome shaped portion from the top, and poured some vanilla custard in the hollow. You can either make the custard from scratch like here or cheat as I did and mix it from custard powder. You might have to try a few powdered forms first, though, as some have a decidedly horrendous metallic taste to them. Then back go the tops and some whipped cream on top of everything. Add some candy sprinkles and you're done. These were t-r-u-l-y delicious. I took some to my Sister who lives nearby, as well as the Grandparents near here, and they were a unanimous success. As for my Brother who wasn't home to receive his, you don't know what you were missing.Yay. 

 

So, to finally end this birthday musing, I go with a not-so-high-literature poem. And though it talks about old age not being kind, I think it is still a fitting way to end this post. After all, if you think about it, what age is, kind I mean. Waste your days doing the things you love. Being with the people you love. In the flesh or in the spirit. It's really all that matters. And this way, in the end, you can say that it was a life spent well living. See, I'm getting all mushy here. Love you all. :)

                     
Dust if you must, but wouldn't it be better
to paint a picture, or write a letter,
bake a cake, or plant a seed.
Ponder the difference between want and need.

Dust if you must, but there is not much time,
with rivers to swim and mountains to climb!
Music to hear, and books to read,
friends to cherish and life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world's out there
with the sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair,
a flutter of snow, a shower of rain,
this day will not come round again.

Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
old age will come and it's not kind.
And when you go, and go you must,
you, yourself, will make more dust!

Remember, a house becomes a home when you can write
“I love you” on the furniture…..
 

by Rose Milligan