Finding the art in this Tuesday had its own unique set of challenges. First, I was away from my cabin–sojourning in the city. Secondly, it was my birthday. Add to that a seven-vodka-martini hangover from the previous evenings’s ‘last day of 44’ celebration and you have the reason why this week’s Tuesday post is being posted on Wednesday.
Arriving back at the cabin late this morning, I spent the first 3 hours snug under a duvet, reading a past issue of The New Yorker, nodding off here and there, awaiting warmth and limber fingers. There is always this period of adjustment upon returning to the cabin, but it lessens with each trip, as the ‘cabin me’ seems to sharpen while the ‘city me’ fades.
“Um, a soy milk cappuccino, but in a large cup?” I ask.
“A cappuccino only comes in the one size,” he says showing me his smallest cup.
“If you want this size, it’s a latte,” he says picking his largest cup.
“But I don’t want that much milk,” I say.
“Then you want a cappuccino,” he says again picking up the smaller cup.
“Hmm. But I want more to drink than that,” I say, and then pause.
“Can I have a latte with less milk?” I ask.
“Well, each has two shots of espresso, the only difference is the amount of milk,” he says with a blank look.
On the inside I want to explain to him that I know all of this, that I’ve been ordering cappuccinos and lattes and espressos for more than a decade, but I refrain.
“I’ll take a latte, with regular milk, a regular milk latte. Please.” I say, my eyes wide.
I felt obliged to toss in an extra 50 cents, bringing my already overpriced latte well over the $5 mark. It was super tasty though, and anyway it was my birthday.
I was born on February 10, a Tuesday. I love my birthday; it’s my most favourite day. What’s more, I am overly proud of being an Aquarius, for no reason that I can put my finger on exactly, except I do find I am especially fond of other Aquarians; there’s often this vibrant connection between us. Anyway, far from a devotee of astrology, I do enjoy reading a good horoscope–especially on my birthday–and the place to find that is here:
Rob Brezsney horoscopes are brilliant, absorbing and wildly entertaining; be sure to read yours if you haven’t already. Here’s what I found:
“I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me. I love you for the part of me that you bring out.” Elisabeth Barrett Browning
Last year on my birthday my Dad was in hospital, I had to call him so he could wish me a happy birthday. This year, he is not there to call. This birthday was my first without my Dad. And this thought seems to exist just below the surface of everything I do and say and think. The love Browning speaks of is the same love my Dad had for me. I know this because he made sure I knew this. The poem touched me, a gift from the universe perhaps.
With this love in my heart, I smiled my way through Tuesday’s hangover, got out into the world, walked the streets, the parks, met a friend, drank more coffee. Reluctant to leave the city this morning, I felt despondent. I’d settled in, once again,to the city’s flow, I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave. But part of getting older–if you’re doing it right–is getting wiser. And at 45, I know when it’s time to leave the fair.
Back at the cabin, I write with cheerful energy about yesterday. Tuesday was a day to reflect on the year now behind me. The year I decided to take a chance and share my voice.