Lordy Lordy Trudy is 40
My most memorable birthday party was my 40th
“Today’s the day,” I shouted to my friend Jane.
As I peered out the living room window, I gawked at a sandwich-board size sign and twenty plastic penguins in the front yard of her house where I was living at the time. It made me laugh out loud. Some people driving along the street that day got whiplash as they turned to look and point. I hope what they saw made their day.
I called out to Jane. “Come and see the sign. Did you know about this?”
Jane answered. “Yep, I did. Trish and I had it put there.”
My friend Jane and I spent most of that day cleaning, rearranging furniture and cooking for the crowd that would descend that evening.
“I think we’re as ready as we can be,” I pronounced. “Time to dress for the party.”
Early summer is my favourite time of year not because June is my birthday month. The weather is ideal — sunny and not too hot or humid. The emerald green grass is verdant. The foliage on the trees is lush. The flowers are blooming. The air is redolent with their scent. You can hear the birds chirping.
You inhale the smell of new-mown grass, and notice tulips bursting open like cups of sunlight.
Magic is afoot said Leonard Cohen.
The summer is evocative of joyful birthdays.
Guests started to arrive bearing more food (it was a potluck) and gifts for me. I clapped my hands. I love getting gifts.
I swept each arrival into a hug as I said, “Welcome. Put the food over there on the table.”
Glowing with pleasure, I added, “Thanks for the gift.”
“Put it here on the hallway table,” I told them as I led them out to the backyard where the others were mingling and getting to know each other. “You’ll love my other friends.”
“How do you know Trudy?” a stranger asked another stranger.
“I’m her ex, Tom. I’ve known Trudy for more than 15 years and lived with her for the first 9 of them.”
“I’m Dave. I know her from working with her at Peat Marwick, the national consulting firm. She took a job there after the business she and Tom owned ended.”
I noticed that as the night went on Dave and his wife gravitated to my friends Norman and his wife Linda. They learned that Norm and Linda had emigrated from Glasgow in the early 70s and that Norman had done marketing for Tom and me at SES Computing since 1981.
Jim reached out his hand to Don, as he said, “I’m Jim. I’m a family doctor turned psychotherapist. When Tom met Trudy in 1976, he was in one of my groups. He asked Trudy to join and she said yes. They stopped coming when they started the business and my wife Sue and I have been friends with them ever since.”
Don replied. “I’ve been a customer at SES Computing, their business for years. I’m an architect and also sit on the board of the Oakville Public Library. Trudy wrote and taught some courses about how to use a computer for our 5 to 13-year-old patrons. They were so well received that we sold the courses to six other libraries in Canada using only word-of-mouth.”
“I’m her friend Trish. I’m the one who had the sign and the penguins placed in the front yard. Did they make you chuckle as they did Trudy?”
“I’m her “travel buddy”. We went for a month-long trip to Australia, New Zealand and Fiji a couple of years ago.” My friend Wendy said to her, “Tell me more. Jane and I are planning a long trip this spring.”
“I’m her mom. Can’t you tell? She looks more like me every day.” she asked with a twinkle in her eye. Mom was a social butterfly and chatted with and got to know every one of my friends. When I was a teenager, Mom’s custom of talking to everyone from the bus driver to her Kmart customers used to annoy me but now I accept that it’s “just Mom” — it’s a part of her uniqueness. Maybe that’s why I’m a networker.
“I’m Dave and this is Ian. We both belong to the Singles’ Committee at the Elmwood Club. And yes, we know that The Elmwood is an all-women’s club in downtown Toronto and that we’re so lucky to be on the only committee there that has men.”
…
My eyes sparkled. I grinned as I eavesdropped and heard friends say these things and finally meet each other. My heart was bursting with gratitude that I’d found an excuse to bring people from different parts of my life together to meet each other.
Music blared and people whirled as they danced to songs from the 60s and 70s.
As the evening progressed and refreshments flowed, people got to know each other and the air filled with loud voices and laughter.
Tom fired up the barbecue and cooked chicken thighs and sausages. That action made our mouths water and anticipate food. It signalled that soon it would be time to eat.
The aroma of finger foods permeated the house as people re-heated the food they’d brought. They jostled for space with each other in the tiny kitchen. “Watch out — coming through.”
The spread included a cheese tray, “pigs in a blanket”, breaded cauliflower bites, baked coconut shrimp, bacon-wrapped meatballs, cheesy garlic bread, a veggie tray with several dips, and, of course, the chicken wings and sausages. What a feast.
Eating stopped the dancing as everyone filled their plates and their faces with delectable finger foods. Many of them came back for seconds. It was so scrumptious.
It was time for the pièces de résistance — my blowing out of the candles on the cake, and the opening of the presents.
Everyone joined in a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday” as they raised their glasses of champagne to me. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I looked around at the friends whom I’d attracted.
The climax of the evening was that, unknown to me, my brother John and two of his friends from TheatreSports, an improvisation club in Toronto, had prepared a skit and my life provided the content.
They had a rapt audience as my friends watched them portray how they saw me. I never knew that the countless “fur balls” that my Siamese cat Jasmine threw up were so noticeable to John. I ignored them because that’s what cats do, isn’t it?
They got my best friend Aletta up with me to be part of their improvisational parody of our relationship of over twenty years (we met in third-year university).
Everyone in the group howled with laughter as they became engrossed by what was happening before their very eyes.
…
My heart was filled to overflowing with indelible memories, love and gratefulness as I looked around me at the wonderful people I’d attracted.
A friend used my camera to take photos that night. She captured all of us — some dancing, some toasting her as she took their picture, some cooking, and my brother and his friends doing improv.
This was 1990 when there was no such thing as a digital camera. Turning the pages in the album now, as I peruse the photos and remember my friendships, makes having spent the money to develop all 108 of them priceless.
