where the writers are
Time owes me nothing

I've been racking my brains trying to find a gift to send to Huntington. As in Sharp. As in Red Room. I really want to. He has been good to me. Tolerated tons of emails, questions, moods, discontent, happiness, in fact years really of ups and downs and in-betweens.

And it's not easy finding a gift for someone you admire but never met. I thought about coasters first. I looked all over for them. I wanted coasters with Irish writers imprinted on them. So Huntington could place his scotch on Yeats or Wilde, contemplate Beckett, muse on the wild Irish poets, think of peat or wild berries as he pens another brilliant idea. Then I thought ties. Tweed. Too personal. No. A cap. How big is his head? Would he wear it? I suppose I could choose pottery. Smoked Salmon. Linen. A book on Irish literature but then again he probably has some amazing edition tucked away on his bookshelf. Limited. Signed. I struggled on. I ambled in and out of shops. Looking. Nothing spoke of the man. So to date I have found nothing. But I will. I am sure of that. This man deserves it.

And today is my birthday which makes it insane to be out shopping for gifts. I had plenty. Small things really. Our trip to Spain is in the offing. A little delayed due to H's commitments but still viable. I dance along this day. Not sure if I like to grow old feeling too young still, catching myself at how I see age and if I should be wearing sensible lady shoes and not putting those crazy earrings into my lobes and instead paying heed to age. Age is horrible. I hate growing old. I want to stay young.

I counted seagulls driving home from shopping for Huntington. Well, I tried to count them but it was impossible. I just settled on the way they swooped around, diving and soaring in apparent unison. Grey and white and elegant. I was at the traffic lights, eager to be home to cake and wine and tiny wrapped gifts that I did not want to open. How special one feels on a birthday. Like the world stops. Like you glide. Along. A seagull diving up and just as easily falling down only to scoop up again into the sky. I crave for that. A loosening up of my wings. A spreading out to encompass the world, the man across the sea whom I will never meet and yet go shopping for. The woman at the stop light with worry in her eyes as if she will never get home, as if she has no home to go to. Birthdays are great but they are a little irrelevant now, as if time owes me nothing only to discover I owe it everything. Everything that ever made me.

21 Comment count
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I like to think of birthdays as a way to measure happiness accrued. :)

Happy Birthday - happy to share it!

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Thanks for the greetings

Thanks for the greetings fellow Piscean. Hope yours went along 'swimmingly' and joyfully. m

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Natal day greetings, Mary! 

Natal day greetings, Mary!  Have a fantastic day, and I think Nathan is right--take it as a day to measure all the happiness in your life.  Thanks for sharing just a little bit of it with us.  ~nan

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Nan, lovely surprise to see

Nan, lovely surprise to see you. Thanks for reading my thoughts. m

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Mary, Happy, Happy Birthday


Happy, Happy Birthday Mary! I hope you had a day filled with abundance!


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Thanks for wishes

Abundantly terrific, Annette. The bistro was fabulous! m

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What a lovely post Mary! 

What a lovely post Mary!  Happy Birthday to you and Huntington as in Sharp indeed is a good-natured Red Room man.  I corresponded with him in the past on few RR concerns and he comes across so warmly.  Hope you found a suitable present for him. :-)

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The quest goes on, Rina!

The quest goes on, Rina! Great to see you. m

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You may grow old

. . . but you shall continue to to invent words, like spluckens.  :-)  Happy birthday, my dear friend.

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Fluckens the spluckens,

Fluckens the spluckens,  Jane! I must be surely mad. Thank you for dropping in with your cheer. m 

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Happy birthday, Mary!

May all your birthday wishes come true!

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Oh my goodness, I missed your birthday!

A happy belated birthday, Mary. I hope the year is inspired and brings the things that make memories.

An old wise woman told me many years ago, age is just a number. I hold onto that dearly.

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Ah you are a sweetheart, Eva.

Ah you are a sweetheart, Eva. Thank you! m

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Happy Birthday Mary. Hunti is such a nice guy and he deserves the best Gift.I hope you will find one soon. If I was Hunti, I would like a bottled aroma of your kitchen as a Gift.


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Gift hunting for Hunti!

Oh Jitu. What a lovely thing to say. It smells good tonight, a mix of roasted root vegetables and roasting chicken with lots of garlic. I imagine you at the table. We would be talking about writing, life, cultures and food. Good to see you-you are a kind man. mars

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".....seagulls driving home

".....seagulls driving home from shopping for Huntington."

Very thoughtful and talented seagulls you have there! :)

p.s.   After seeing Hunti's video from a couple of years ago, I think he is a tweedy sorta feller.  Or at least a smoking jacket sorta feller. :)




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Eric, Irish seagulls are

Eric, Irish seagulls are extremely gifted, you should hear them belt out a ballad or two! I figured tweed for Hunti. Smoking jacket? Silk, I suppose and some Cuban cigars. Wait, I think I have to go check out my bank balance...m

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Happy Birthday

Thanks for your great post! 

Many happy returns of the day!

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Hi Eva! Thanks for reading. m

Hi Eva! Thanks for reading. m

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A Very Happy Belated

A Very Happy Belated Birthday, Mary! You truly deserve a fantastic time--and as my Grandma always said, "Age is nothing--it's how you live your years and enjoy every moment!" I bet Huntington would love anything you baked, Mary--your kitchen always sound so wonderful!!  Hugs, J

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Hi Judee, thank you for the

Hi Judee, thank you for the wishes! I wonder if my coconut mascarpone cake would make the route to S.F.......m x