1972, my sixth birthday. I can taste that cake just by looking at it — it is my standing order year after year.
And those crown-shaped candle holders sat on countless birthday cakes in our house .I think they were finally retired sometime ago.
The dress, too — I remember loving it, althought today I eschew stripes. No glasses yet, but already, I see my hair is short — Mom’s defense against my constant, confounded hair-twirling.
Although not an over-the-hill-milestone, today’s birthday feels like the start of a whole new chapter.
How much has changed in just a year.
Last Feb. 15, I wrote this.
And in a few days, if the darn weather will cooperate, I will meet the woman that letter is addressed to — putting a face to the countless years of wondering, and punctuating several long phone calls these past few weeks.
I’m caught in a vast swirl of conflicting and confusing emotions, many of them as childlike as the Terri depicted above:
Will she like me?
What is she like?
Does she have a sense of humor? What will she think of mine?
Will I like her?
What do I wear?!