Wasn't that a party?

On the weekend I turned 75. 

How is it that the years have become shorter? It seems only yesterday that, instead of us spending my birthday on the ferry from Bella Coola to Port Hardy we were driving back up that famous hill to the Chilcotin Plateau (wind, apparently prevented the ferry from leaving the dock in Bella Bella) to end the day in a motel in Cache Creek...

Anyway, I’m no longer surprised by turning some age that seemed purely theoretical only a few years ago. And 75 is no longer freighted with the meaning it had when I was growing up, when I literally didn’t know anyone that ancient. Also, I’m getting used to the various minor frailties that appear as one gets older.

But to cut to the chase: when I turned 72 I evidently thought some philosophical comments combined with practical suggestions were in order, so I wrote a blog post about it (https://occasionaljustus.blogspot.com/2016/09/reflections-on-turning-72.html)

I ended that post with the following: 

“7. I think I may break the habits of a lifetime, and throw myself a party when I'm 75.
No I won't: I'll guilt the children into doing it. Surely that's one of the privileges of older age!”

I confess I cannot have been thinking clearly, because, in the heat of the moment I miscalculated: Of course I knew they would eventually read the post, but I guess I assumed that if I didn’t raise the topic, it would go away. Or maybe I would.

In any case it didn’t, and I didn’t, and I should have known better, should have considered the fact that our children have, since they became adults, liked nothing better than an opportunity to mock their parents and their foibles. I should probably have worried. 

By way of example, here’s a little something that Enid dug up for me on the occasion of my 75th. Years ago she and Robin had gone to visit Nora in Istanbul, where she was teaching, and, while there, hiked at least a part of both the Lycian and St Paul’s trails. One night this is apparently what they discussed:

You get the idea.

But it turns out I was right not to worry.

The Troops did organize a party. It was held in the local curling rink. There were no speeches and no presents. (Although I’m left with good number of cards and more than a few bottles of wine!) 

My birthday turned out to be the excuse that brought together literally dozens of people of three generations, most of whom we have known for years, a significant number since they were born. There were friends I had taught; there were friends from out of town; there were friends we know through our children. My brothers both left their islands to attend. 

Leanne had made all the “supercousins”, many of whom are into Harry Potter these days, black capes, so there were flocks of black-robed creatures and their contemporaries flapping and racing around, to the considerable amusement of adults who hadn't seen the flock in action before. We all got to catch up with people we haven't seen in a long time…

It was pretty much perfect.

And I’m very grateful for our exceptional family and our exceptional friends.