Happy Birthday Bye Bye

Don't panic.  I'm not going anywhere.  That's how Daddy sings "Happy Birthday" since his stroke.  My day started with a bit of kitten time and a flood of well-wishes on Facebook.  Mom and Dad sang "Happy Birthday" when I got to their house.  The family had brunch at the Uptown Blanco Restaurant.  I took a nap.  Susan, Robert, Victoria and Patrick all helped me clear room to set up my photo table.  We went back to Mom & Dad's to barbeque.  A mellow day.

So whose birthday is this?  Mine.  At some point the mellow has to end.  Mom would prefer I don't tell the world her furniture is falling apart.  Hmmm. It's not shoddy furniture.  It's 80 years old.

I was scooting my chair closer to the table and suddenly found myself on the ground, a human question mark wedged between the now vertical chair seat and the wall with a broken chair around me.  My family swarmed around me crying, "Are you okay?"  What's a girl to do when you are lying there like that with your head at a dangerous angle?

I started singing.  "Happy birthday to me.  Happy birthday to me."

We laughed, and I slowly rolled to the right and uncurled myself.  My sister was beside me.  "But are you okay?" she insisted.

I looked up and whispered, "I have to change my pants."  Then I instructed the rest with a circular wave of my hand to turn around so I could stand and make a graceful exit out the sliding glass door.  My sister followed me and asked again, "Are you hurt?"

"I don't know.  Is my back bleeding?"  She lifted my shirt to check.  Some scratches and a big purple bruise already.  On the walk between houses, little aches started chiming in:  my ankle, my elbow, my neck.

We  returned to the parents' house to see that the chair had been cleaned up and replaced with a nice safe folding aluminum chair.  They had found a loose screw in the antique.  Chuckles and comments popped in sporadically throughout dinner whenever someone's chair creaked.  Time for new glue all around.

Susan reminded me to make a wish when I cut the cake.  I paused with the knife hovering over the cake.  "Oh, yeah a wish.  I forgot all about the wish thing with the candles."  I gave it a few moments' thought and shrugged, "Whatever."  They laughed.  "That was my wish:  whatever."

Susan wished for me, "Please let me be able to move tomorrow."

During cake, the family had me recount the Houston saga for Patrick.  When we all finally sat back, replete with laughter and wiping the last tears away, Robert said, "Thank you for being here, Aunt Bobbi Jean.  It would be so boring without you!"

The Penny stories will return on another day.  I'm enjoying my last ever champagne and calling it a night.