Surprise! You are going gray for a reason....

Molly, with the scheming help of numerous people, pulled off an amazing surprise 40th birthday party for me on May 16th. On the day in question, my job was to help my mom trade in her Dodge Astrovan for a more manageable car... one that gets more than ten miles to the gallon and alerts her when she is about to run over the neighbor's mailbox. Turns out that was all a twisted lie. I didn't suspect a thing when the pig roasting delivery guy showed up in our driveway in the morning before we left to car shop. (My mom pointed him to Moore Street saying he was lost. Moore St. is a pig roast type of area so I bought it unequivocally.) I didn't suspect anything when Toni Seaberry happened to be in town babysitting (as all Comcast financial gurus are wont to do) at the Lawrenceville School and wanted to spend an afternoon with my mom and me. I didn't even suspect anything when I came down Linden and saw our driveway full of people... I thought our neighbors were having a family reunion. Then I saw Mr. Bracken's bald head... still not much of a clue as he could be in town for a McCarter show... then I realized I knew just about all the people in the driveway, including those from Pennsylvania, Virgina, DC (taxation without representation! they get listed separately from the Virginia folks due to this movement), Connecticut, North Carolina and NYC. Countless people with whom I owe tons of unopened e-mails, unreturned phone calls, unsent thank you cards, "hey, I got married" notices, etc. I thought it may be a procrastination intervention. Turns out the chalk mural on the driveway told me that it was just for my birthday. Relief. We had an amazing time and I was blown away by all the well-wishers and the spectacle of awesome people packed into our shared driveway and weed-choked backyard. It was our disciplinary dean's children (both well below pre-teen) who were pushing the beer on people like they were fraternity pledge-masters; that is always a sign of a good party. We all enjoyed great food and Molly gave this amazing, heartfelt toast and all I could follow with was some garbled "thank you for coming." Very lame but I was still in shock. It was great catching up with people and seeing people who I love connect and meet each other. It felt like a mini surprise wedding reception, and I was the bride. And I am too pale to wear white. But I managed nonetheless and loved every minute of it.

We followed up with a post-party celebration at The Yankee Doodle Tap Room. I don't recall much other than some broken glassware. On our way home, my sisters, nephew Harrison and niece Moira were hungry so we stopped at the only place in town open at 1:00am, Hoagie Haven. The place was mobbed with students and they didn't miss a beat seeing an eleven year-old girl in line with them... although to be fair they may not have even been able to focus on her or anyone else for that matter. Harrison is the size of a college kid so he stuck out less; he ran into his drunken AAU basketball coach who taught him how to throw an illegal elbow on a rebound a la Karl Malone. Not sure that is in the coaching manual. Moira was perplexed as to why so many kids were eating in the middle of the night (never mind the swaying) and she finally arrived on the theory that they had all been home for the weekend visiting their families and the Haven stays up to feed them after a long day of driving back to campus. What a positive spin on the late Saturday night crowd in Hoagie Haven. I think she has a career in the Development Office awaiting her.

It was a good week before I got around to opening my gifts... for me, parties are about the people and the comraderie man, not about the materialistic/capitalistic trappings, you know what I am saying? I waited a week to let the memories breath pure and free. I received lots of alcohol-themed presents, which I feel speaks to some terrible Irish-American stereotyping that is latent in my peer group. I also got some I-tunes cards which make me feel young and hip, and a particularly amazing gift from Molly where she collected comments and birthday wishes from my friends and former colleagues. It was a very moving and thoughtful gift; I am in real trouble when she turns forty in a few years (OK, more than a few, six to be exact. She is like a trophy wife without the trouble of a first marriage and alimony. I could have babysat her. Creepy.) Also in the pile was an unspeakable gift... to the sick bastard(s) who wrapped up what I am hoping against hope was the leathered, withered tail of the roasted pig, please get yourself some therapy. And to think this happened at a family party. For shame.

In the end, I don't feel forty. But, every morning I confront my eyebrows and they tell a different tale. I've always thought of myself as a very masculine eyebrow equivalent to Brooke Shields, nice shapely thick brows arched with a touch of mirth and mischief. Lately I am getting all Andy Rooney. No more Brooke, even on a good day. It's a bad sign when you see your eyebrows in the morning and the 60 Minutes clock ticks in your mind. Morely Safer's skin is next... I am on the slow arch down. Time marches on...