Botanical Birthdays

Not keen to leave things to chance (or to anyone else either), I like to make plans and ensure I give myself a happy birthday. It can be a lot of pressure on friends and loved ones to see that you have a great day, so instead of waiting to see what they have planned I like to carve out my special day my way.

I absolutely LOVE my birthday. I can never understand people who brush theirs off, or worse, work on their birthday. I have always ensured I am free to fill the day with all the things I love. Last week I had my second lockdown birthday, and I’m finding they have a certain charm.

To be honest, I’m not entirely gone on the word birthday, it suggests a mere 24 hours to celebrate the anniversary of you joining the human race. I prefer a birthday-week, or even better, a birthday-month. If the birth anniversary in question has a zero at the end, I would see no harm in allowing yourself a full birthday-year. This gives more scope to fully max out the indulgences.

Dublin City Council and Our Lady’s Choral Society are pretty keen on my birthday too, every year they put on a lunchtime concert just for me. Well, that’s how I see it anyway. It’s the date that Handel’s Messiah had its world premiere in Dublin, so they stage a fabulous free outdoor performance on that date. It’s held in Fishamble Street, up beside Christchurch Cathedral, which is the site of the music hall where it was first performed.

Of course, this year it wasn’t on, so I couldn’t go to it, or to the lovely Queen of Tarts coffee shop nearby afterwards. So, in order to avoid disappointment, of which there is already a large supply, I put some plans together.

My father was the opposite about birthdays. He wasn’t even sure what date he was born on (due to a mix up on the records) and when you wished him a happy birthday, he’d say ‘oh, is it today?’ He was uncomfortable receiving gifts, ‘sure I have everything’ was always his answer. Maybe what he meant was that he already had a box of 3 handkerchiefs with the initial M stitched on them from last Christmas. I tried Old Spice, bags of Foxes Glacier Mints (he was never without a bag in his cardigan pocket), or when I was old enough to buy them, 20 Rothmans (which always resided in his other pocket). All he’d say was ‘sure there was no need’.

Ironically, Dad died on his birthday. In the weeks leading up to it, I asked Mum what I could get him, would I buy him a new pair of pyjamas as he was in bed fulltime with his illness. She said no, that would only dishearten him, better to get him something positive, so I bought him a shirt and tie set. That morning as he was leaving this world, I tried to give him the present to remind him what day it was, but it was too late, where he was going dates aren’t important and as he’d say himself ‘sure I have everything I need’.

Dad’s upbringing didn’t dwell on frivolity and birthdays got a light touch. As a child I once spent my birthday in his homeplace with my Uncle Tom and Auntie Nora Mary. It was Easter time and my mother made a cake for me. When it came to teatime and the having of the cake, I threw a ‘jumped-up-jackeen’ strop about there being no candles. Auntie Nora Mary saved the day by poking the desired number of matchsticks into the cake and lighting them, telling me to make my wish fast before the cake was destroyed. I’m sure my father and his brother exchanged glances across the table at such utterly crazy carry-on, but I never forgot my matchstick candles.

Having said all that, I’ve never expected my own children to give me gifts, I felt it was another job to put on Mr B as it would be him who’d have to buy them. Also, I wanted to teach them that love isn’t about gift giving, rather feeling loved throughout the year. This has come to backfire slightly as they are now old enough, and funded enough, to choose a gift themselves. ‘But you never want a present’ comes their confused reply. This year I made sure they knew that I now see them as adults and would throw a sulk if they let it pass.

The Manchild bought me a bunch of flowers which reduced me to mush as it was a first, he handed them to me with as much pride as if he’d grown them himself. They came along with a lovely card and message, oh don’t you worry, I made an enormous fuss so he’d know he’d done good and floral tributes will always win my heart. The schoolgirl has always been a great card maker and this year it came with a beautiful candle. The day was off to a flying start.

Mr B suggested we take advantage of our new found freedom and go to the Botanic Gardens. Folks, if it’s been a while since you’ve been there, put it on your summer to do list. Some areas are closed off where they can’t facilitate social distancing, like the stunning 200-year-old Glasshouses, so it might be worth waiting a while for them to reopen. Also, a later visit will mean that the gardens will be in full bloom. You’ll still see countless squirrels darting around, they are so at ease with people that they’ll come right up to you, like this little fella I met.

You can make this into a bigger day out by calling to the adjoining Glasnevin Cemetery which runs fantastic tours. We took our picnic to Griffith Park, where we set up camp by the River Tolka and enjoyed lunch watching the world go by. A lady came up to tell us that we had done her heart good, the sight of 2 middle aged people (one wrapped up in a blanket, yes that was me), sharing a flask of tea, with Tupperware boxes on our laps.

Back home, Mr B cooked dinner, friends and family were in touch, I felt utterly spoilt and celebrated. I always feel my birthday is really my own personal New Year’s Day. My resolutions are to get out and about as often as possible. And to be ready when adventure comes knocking, so I can say a resounding yes to it.