It’s beginning to look a lot like Marymom’s birthday, everywhere you go! Okay, maybe not everywhere YOU go but here in our household the cards are set up on the mantle with care in hopes that great presents (wrapped in not-Chrismas paper) soon will be there.
Having a December birthday is kind of sucky but I try to make the most of it. There are basic guidelines to follow — celebrate for at least a week, receive cards, and all presents must be wrapped in birthday paper. Things are going pretty well so far, I have a few cards already, a celebration with our friends, Karen and George, is set for tomorrow night and a family dinner is planned for Sunday. George has a birthday on December 9 and we have been celebrating “the birthdays” now for almost 30 years. How could we have gotten so old!
When I was born my mom wanted to name me Mary because she liked the name. It scored her really big points with my dad’s Catholic family because December 8 is the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. But I’ve never been keen on my name. I always wanted a nickname. There seem to be a lot of nicknames for boys that have no relation to their names like Bud, Lefty, Butch or Red. But very few for girls. And really, I’m a righty, not butch and have brown hair.
How old am I? Old enough to remember getting a TV for the first time, skating with skates that you put on your shoes and tightened with a skate key, and remembering “I like Ike” buttons. And although there have been strange saggy things happening to my outside, the inside of me still feels the same as it did a lot of years ago.