May 14, 2025

Dear all,

I wrote the above date, that of my birthday, and thought of writing about birthdays. Some people love to celebrate them; others, for their own reasons, don’t. I worried about my 89-year-old mother when she told me that she wasn’t interested in celebrating her birthday that year – and she died just two months after it. Birthdays have always been big in our family. Two of my brothers and I were all born in the same week (so to speak – actually a couple of years apart) and my mother made three separate birthday cakes during that week and allowed us to have three parties. I think our birthday week was connected to my father’s leaves from the army during World War 2, must have been in August? Anyway, we celebrate all week, and since the weeks of three parties, always call each other, remember each other’s birthdays, meet to celebrate when we can. My youngest brother, born on Boxing Day (postwar) has Christmas to compete with so is rather out of the loop and had his birthday parties organized by already-exhausted adults.

So, why celebrate? Because we’re here. Because we remember that heady week of presents and parties, every May, during our childhood. Because we miss each other (two in Australia, one in Britain, me in the US). On my brother Robert’s May 8 birthday in 1945, when I was three, I thought all the balloons, parties and fireworks for VE day were really for his birthday. Of course, I was right.

When I turned 80, I threw a party in London and invited my nearest and dearest and they came, my brothers from Australia, four friends from the US, my family and oldest friends in England, my 90-year-old cousin from Italy, several dear friends who have since departed. It was going to be my final birthday party, or so I thought, (not planning on a rapid demise, just cutting back a bit) and it was wonderful, but of course passed too quickly. To continue the festivities, my brothers and I boarded the train to Paris at St. Pancras the following morning and then the TGV south to Avignon, for a week spent together with our families in Saint-Rémy de Provence, walking, talking, eating, enjoying each others’ company. It was a dream come true.

At my brother Robert’s 80th last year in Brighton, my nephew-in-law Francisco suggested to me that he’d organize my 85th in Italy. I’m going to hold him to it – Francisco, are you reading this? It already doesn’t seem too far away, and God knows, we need treats to look forward to these days. Last year my daughter and I celebrated our birthdays in Paris – she’s another Taurean – and I’m sure we’ll do it again. My friend Margit and I, who share a birthday, have been going out for delicious lunches together for the past 25 years. She was the Food Editor when I was Literary Editor at our local newspaper and now writes the yearly Key West Restaurant Guide, so knows exactly where to go to eat…

So, why celebrate ourselves in this maybe excessive way, now that we’re not at the sausage-roll eating, jelly-throwing stage of partying? Because we exist, and are happy and grateful to be here, and to be together. Our birthdays are our sun-signs, and if you’re into astrology at all you’ll know that Taureans like us love to eat, drink and be merry. (I started being interested in astrology during the pandemic, listening to online podcasts and going out to stare up at the inscrutable planets from our backyard, when I couldn’t stray from our house. Wanting an explanation, more insight into the processes of the universe? Yes, and needing to situate myself firmly in its structures.)

So, unapologetically, a few thoughts on birthdays. Happy birthday, May people. And all of you, when the time comes. It matters to celebrate our own existence! Go well, and enjoy yourselves.

Affectionately,

Ros