Ode to Jo(e)y: The Big Four Ohhhh!!!!

Overture: Why Me?
I am almost ten years older than my husband, so every milestone birthday he has had since we’ve been together (his 25th, 30th, and 35th) I have witnessed through my ‘been there done it, kid, you’re gonna love it’ eyes, the know-it-all elder’s wink wink nudge nudge of fun, if you will.

Then this one hits: Joey’s birthday, 2009.

Theme: ME ME ME ME
Joe turns 40 in two days. My 40th was a ceremonious, well-planned, spare-no-expense burst of fireworks, a fandango dedicated to ME. He took me, the woman coming into wisdom years, the sassy years, on a Caribbean cruise.

In stark contrast, our celebration of Joey’s 40th is turning out to be a quiet, starless land-locked event with which I am presenting a brief tour guide’s gaze through a skewed, old, limited viewing lens.

Here are the four reasons why:

One: His 40th is occurring just when I am starting down a new path, a deliberate change from teaching to once again being a student. I took this new direction three weeks ago, leaving students behind and picking up textbooks, and the newness of my choice is shaking me. I miss my students enough to know I am mourning. Woops.

Two: Thanks largely to a colleague who recently commented in an email that it takes a lot of ***** to be making such a change AT MY AGE, Joe’s 40th is reminding me of my 50th, just around the bend. I can’t help it. If 40 for him feels heavy for me, 50 for me could feel like a sentence, and I don’t mean a grammatical one.

Three: Because I’m trying to be a good member of a book club I joined, which I still infrequently frequent, Joe’s 40th is occurring just when I am dedicatedly but flinchingly reading and learning much more than perhaps I wanted to about a horrendous topic, the Nazis during World War II. I finished The Zookeeper’s Wife this morning and this afternoon am still languishing over the human condition. As I write, I feel I am carrying the world on my shoulders, which given all else is bad timing and way too much weight.

Four: Unable to afford these days (thanks, horrible economy!) a splashy 40th celebration like I had, we are celebrating Joe’s 40th with modest mini-adventures: going out to dinner, taking a quick get-away with our dog to a quiet spot on the lake, attending weekend film matinees, and having a party with friends at Joe’s favorite pub. But that’s all external. In a better mindset, I would rise to the occasion and invoke my normally happy demeanor that, as we know, is the real force behind celebrating with loved ones anyway. But no luck there. Externally and internally, I’m the birthday buzzkill.

In conclusion, I am taking my husband’s 40th personally. I am picking up his milestone and running with it.

Finale: MEEEEEE!!!!
I sit and write all this on a quiet afternoon immersed in woefulness and the song of lament I’ve created from it.

I know there will be brighter days, but this day isn’t one of them.

I gear up to edit, look at the notes of my ‘song’ I’ve put down so far. It’s pretty gloomy. It’s pretty weird. But I’m committed to not retract.

I need an ending to my milestone birthday dirge. But what? What note should I end with? A bang? A whimper? A simple fade-out? Fanfare?

Then, as though providence is looking out to help me, the way an owl can appear in the dream of one searching for guidance, HE comes through the door. The birthday boy two days from now who always takes everything in stride. Joey.

He has been away, at the Home Depot, shopping for things we need. Nothing fancy. Sealant for the balcony, a broom, new keys.

He comes through the back door—I cannot yet see him--and the first thing I hear after the close of the door and a shuffle of a few bags is his booming tenor voice: “Lordy Lordy Look Who’s 40!!” He is rhyming at the top of his happy lungs.

Then there’s a pause.

He finishes, with great gusto, like the end of some jacked up Gilbert and Sullivan aria, “Oh, I guess that would be MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.”

My heart swells, and I smile, and then I laugh from his impeccable, ironic timing. He walks into the living room and finds me absorbed in my laptop. I put it down after swiftly writing, as finale to my song, these words, that effectively make it his:

“This is why I love my husband. Levity, light, and love. All the rest is crap.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Incredible. You’re so un-vain. This song IS about you.”