It was a happy little dinner party at the restaurant where my kids work. My son waited our table. My very important family members were there with only a few missing.

Birthdays have that magic air about them. I like to recall the day of my birth by listening to my parents tell about how my dad was in the Virginia in the Reserves and how my uncle definitely thought I looked like an ugly chicken. Many other birthday celebrations are recalled also. How nice it is to remember many, many happy years.

Throughout my life my birthday celebrations were always different mostly because I was born in the middle of the summer. Many of my regular all year round friends are elsewhere as am I. I can recall some years staring at somewhat strange faces through lighted candles. It doesn't matter though. At that moment everyone there is your very best friend.

I hate to admit I love presents, but, I do....not the big kind, not the ones that cost the most but certainly the ones that have that hidden meaning that only the giver and receiver can understand. Many friends sent me cards or phone calls that I really appreciate and love and cherish. My parents always give a thoughtful, useful gift. I feel their attention at every moment. I now own aqua blue rolling luggage. Maybe I can start planning another trip to Italy. Luggage certainly feels hopeful. My husband always speaks the loudest with his gestures and effort in presenting to me things I love like Italian Ricotta cake and books and flowers all the while pretending it took little effort. My sister is creative in conjuring up favorite items...this year she gave me a homemade (she and my niece made it) ceramic engraved planter with a beautiful plant knowing full well I love flowers the most. My kid's homemade cards and cards they pick at the store are so touching I keep them forever. My little son gave me tickets for "a free massage", "a free car wash", etc...The four of them got together and gathered up chocolate covered blueberries, and pretzels, a certificate for a pedicure, and little gold heart earrings that are so me I feel they were made for me. They picked it all out and had it wrapped and tied with a bow. Four boys...imagine that.. My friend's son used his day's tip money to by me a bunch of flowers from the supermarket where he works...very touching. His mom baked me a scrumptous lemon poppy seed cake. My aunt and uncle always give a me something lovely and thoughtful ..this year being a cute beach cover up. My sister in law knows how to indulge me with a spa treatment. We are spa sisters for sure. All of them, especially my little son, have that "how can I possible show you how much I love you?" look in their eyes. This is what I love about the gifts...the hopeful effort that I get it.

I got it.

After dinner, we all went to a huge beach bar in Atlantic City. Some of my cousins and friends and neighbors were there dancing and I heard "Happy Birthday" all night long. We saw the band "Don't call Me Frances" who are really great.

I am glad I can still dance to the wee hours. I love to dance. The night will surely be remembered.

Glad I got it.

There were a few mishaps this past week. Some serious and some not so serious. There were times when life's reality presented itself to me. I got scared. Even at 45, I get terrified.

The general theme of the week was about our obligation for happiness. We all have an obligation to ourselves and others to be happy. Some of us can accomplish that more easily than others. For some, it takes a conscious decision, for others it takes peace and rest and for others it takes medication and doctors. The last week of my 44th year I realized life is too precious and unpredictable to take happiness for granted. We must dwell on goodness. We must force ourselves to be happy. We can get over mishaps. We may, someday, not get over other things more serious. Dennis Prager says if you can't make it, fake it. Faking it or just consciously making yourself act happy can make you feel happy... as well as good food, exercise, family and friends. Worrying is a waste. Being anxious and nervous about everything (my tendency) is also not helpful.

Practice and consciously decide on being happy and acting happy.

Got it!

for anyone that is in love with literature and food and love...this is the book for you!

great! recipes, quotes, passages from great books, poetry and a story centered around food, cooking and eating and love.

Here is a favorite passage:

from The House at Pooh Corner:

And "What do you like best in the world, Pooh?"

"Well", said Pooh, "what I like best....." and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called.

Genius!

another

one of my favorite authors is Colette..no surprise...her description of Paris and food...are some my favorites.

The character in this book thinks of Colette:

Pomme breathes in the black, appetizing aroma of fresh truffles or burnt cocoa, hoping to find comfort in the heady sensation of patience, optimism and a vague hunger.

Colette once said that if she had a son of marriageable age, she would warn him to beware of young women who love neither wine nor truffles nor cheese nor music.

(hear that boys!..I agree wholeheartedly)...

We screamed with laughter as we rowed our little canoes. 24 of us. Mucky river water with tree branch obstacles. We were "survivors" in our own little heads. In our canoe was my friend's 18 year old daughter, me and my 8 year old niece. Since those two were anything but quiet, I never enjoyed any peace or any chirping birds in the lush greenery that surrounded us. We passed dirty looking men with many tattoos and laughed again at how scared they made us feel. They snickered and cheered as we passed them.

We felt strong and accomplished as we passed each marker on our map. The kids swung from tree ropes and imitated Tarzan. It was hot and humid. The bushes and trees shaded us from the sun as the brown water cooled us and caused a dark film to developed over our arms and legs. I think I am the only South Philly girl to do this and then admit it! My hands blistered. My niece shrieked with joy as we collided into a fallen tree and everything fell into the water including us. I had a couple minutes of panic as I watched the aluminum canoe fill with water. It was too heavy to turn. A slight current took my old hat down stream. My niece was laughing so hard I couldn't get her attention. Even though the water was only 4 feet deep at that point, I am glad she had on a life jacket. No one was around. As we pondered what to do, those dirty looking, ink obsessed men were paddling smoothly toward us. I knew they had been drinking. My stomach flipped and I took a deep breath. Of course they turned out to be nice and helped us pull the boat to the side, where there was 1 square foot of beach, turn it over to empty it, and, finally, get it back in the water.

They were on their way and as we continued we screamed with laughter at our mishap. With every branch that missed our heads or our backs by mere centimeters we giggled again. We sang "row, row, row your boat" as loud as we could until the leaves on the trees shook. We roared again with laughter.

Thereafter, we went out to Chili's for dinner. The kids had a blast. The four mothers looked like washed out dish rags. 23 of them, plus the waiters and waitresses, very loudly and cheerfully, sang to me, "Happy Birthday", that which brought tears to my eyes.

My family has made some very nice friends here at the shore. The kid's ages ranges from 19-8. They all get along well and find each other fun, full of adventure and kind.

Today, my blisters are healing, my back is fine, my arms feel strong. I am exhausted from all of the laughing. I have that "row, row, row your boat"....in my head.

Life, is but a DREAM!

"What Happy People Know"...this book by dan baker, PhD (director of life enhancement program at canyon ranch)

is in my shore house...every summer I re read it...everyone should read it...I agree with every single word. Puts my thoughts into words wonderfully, + makes me realize many things...like a bell going off in my head.

The hardest thing for me to do regarding my job isn't to see the patients in certain situations but leaving them as I found them.

Sometimes, I know, they are in their predicaments because of their own choices, lifestyles, accepting a victim's attitude, and usually a lifetime's layering of bad decisions. At 80 or 90 years of age those reasons seem to matter less. Age and illness have taken over many households where only helplessness survives.

I try not to be an enabler or too much of a giver for fear I will be dependent upon to the point of hurting instead of the desired helping. This is what usually happened in these patient's past...they took what was offered and did not fight to take control over their own lives and then a physically weaker and mentally defeated elder person emerges to wait for help, most of the time the help is not enough. It is too late. It is too hard to go back. It is too much to go on with determination and independence.

NOT GIVING is hard for me ...I'd rather do it all for everyone then leave someone wondering, or fetching for themselves. I have learned over the years helping is sometimes resented, seemingly condescending, or insulting. I have learned that "giving a hungry person a fish will feed him for a day but teaching him how to fish will feed him for a lifetime". Sometimes, though, they don't want to learn.

The older people that do the best are the ones that have the simplest lives. They are the ones with homes that provide what they need and not too much more to confuse, or cause stress. Food, a comfortable chair and sofa and bed, an ability to get around either in their homes (this means free of clutter, free of mess, available food and heat and air conditioning either by fan or air conditioner unit) or in their immediate neighborhood, medications, access to physicians, nurses and hospitals and health insurance seem to be the
most important items. Caring family members or friends that provide genuine help and assistance and company. A radio or TV. Some elders like to play cards or bingo or chess. The survivors are the ones who take an active role in their health care being aware of their diagnoses and medications and decide what is best for them without blindly following the directions of several physicians and emergency room doctors.

Joe, who looks like Humpty Dumpty's grandpop, was on the sofa so drenched with sweat he could not sit up to talk with me. A big glass of iced gatorade (at my insistence)and water was at his side. He would wait out the heat spell. His house is dark and musty. The mice scatter about in the kitchen 4 feet from his 24 hour a day sofa life. His hot water heater has been broken for about 2 months. He is on the waiting list at Philadelphia Corporation of Aging for a new one.

Their job is daunting as they struggle to serve the overly populated elderly city.

Many of our elderly are sitting at live orchestra performances and plays and in restaurants and bridge clubs. Many are playing bocce and tennis at the playgrounds and many are at the casinos thrilled at the whistles and dings of the slot machines. Many are not. Many are home waiting for someone to get them a drink or a meal or a fan. Many are stabbing themselves with insulin needles without an inkling of why or how it all works. Many just go through the motions of surviving another day. I wonder how they have the desire to go on, to even go through the motions. How much can they really care? And yet, they do. They care. There will always be the people who do not take enough responsibility or control. Their will always be the ones who accept poverty and mice in their kitchen. They care, but not enough. And then they lose the ability to do anything about it.

Joe was a carpenter. He worked hard. He made many bad decisions and lost his wife to divorce and his kids to neglect. He lived on his own terms and declined compromise. His head was the hard Italian kind. He loved food and liquor. He liked big Cadillacs. He liked working for cash and filling his pockets. His heath declined. His loneliness excelled. He lived a few more emotionally bitter years than he should have, he isolated himself. Friends dwindled. His lost his ability to drink. He lost track of the number of pills he took. He learned not all doctor's suggestions worked or mattered. He was tired of trying to figure it all out. The roof leaked, the carpets were sodden with dirt. He became unable to climb the stairs (he has not been on the second floor of his house in 11 years). His belly swelled to 71 inches. He is 5 foot 2 inches tall. When his home health aide shaves his face she also shaves his head. He was robbed a couple of times...someone pushed the door in with a mask over their face and demanded valuables. Joe told them where to find the few dollars he had stashed, his TV, his radio, his watch. After 2 or 3 times, they stopped, knowing there wasn't much left to steal. They never hurt him. He never reported it to the police.

Today his air conditioner was on but the house was stifling. "Why is is so hot in here?" I asked. He said the air was broken but did not want to shut it and open the windows. I spoke to a neighbor who looks in on him. PCA was trying to get him a new unit by Friday.

I don't know if he'll make it until Friday.

Joe should have learned to fish.

I wish I knew how to teach him "to fish".