On July 1, it was my birthday.
I turned 29 years old.
You don’t believe me? Because I look so young?
God, you’re sweet.
But, it’s true. I really am 29 now.
Sometimes, like when I shop for clothes at Forever 21 and can still fit in a size small or sometimes when I rap all the words to Drake songs in the car, I feel young.
Other times, like when I choose to read Brontë books for pleasure or like when I opt for flats over heels, I feel old.
In any case, young or old, for my birthday, I wanted to have a party.
A tea party, I decided, because I like cucumber sandwiches, vintage tea cups and warm berry scones.
On the day of my birthday, I spent all morning setting up for my noon-time garden party and to really get in the tea party mood, I wore a vintage apron patterned with pink rosebuds while I rinsed red grapes and fried up spicy sausage links.
My house was all flowers. Everywhere, vases of lavender sprigs that I arranged with white Gerber daisies from my yard. I filled Mason jars with lilac colored sweet peas and also pink cabbage roses that smelled musky and old fashioned.
In the bathroom and in the living room I burned gardenia scented candles.
I played Ella Fitzgerald and Bessie Smith songs on Tim’s record player speakers so that the music would sound a little bit crackly. I like the raspy, rich voices of old time crooners. I think it’s romantic and I like that even the songs I haven’t heard before sound familiar and nostalgic.
I brewed a big pitcher of peach iced tea that I sweetened with raw sugar and then I infused organic coconut water with pieces of ripe, yellow mango.
I picked a rainbow of wildflowers from my garden and froze the little buds into ice cubes. My friends scooped the ice into their glasses of sparkling rosé and flutes of champagne and when the cubes melted down, their wines were garnished with floating flowers. Dandelions, forget-me-nots and some other kind of pink flower that I don’t know the name of.
I laid out smooth, triple-cream cheeses and Rainier cherries and sour Cornichon pickles. I served individually wrapped salted caramels and aged cheddar popcorn. I filled bowls with sweet, summer berries and vanilla whipped cream and then I chopped up a whole watermelon that I seasoned with coarse sea salt and fresh cracked black pepper. I picked leaves of mint that I grew myself. I stacked them, rolled them and cut them into a chiffonade and then I stirred the herb ribbons up with the watermelon for freshness.
I baked a tall cake.
My favorite cake is chocolate with vanilla frosting but I had wanted a pink cake for my pink party, so, instead, I baked a vanilla bean cake. I colored the cake batter with just a few drops of red food coloring so that when I cut the cake, iced white on the outside, it would be blushing on the inside.
I wanted it to taste really vanilla-y, so, into my batter and into my frosting, I stirred in the insides of two whole Bourbon Madagascar Vanilla Beans.
To finish, I crowned the four tiers with lots and lots of fresh, pink roses. Pink roses to match the pink of the cake.
It was a good cake.
All of my favorite friends from Seattle came to my party. They brought me wine and Mexican beer and marijuana joints. It was a lovely celebration. I had a wonderful time.
My friends here are each and all such special gifts and treasures. They were all my favorite birthday presents. I could name them all but, actually, they know who they are.
And then all of my friends had to go to work, and Tim too, so, I smoked one of my birthday joints and then went down to the beach on the Sound so I could think about all the things I liked about being 28 and all the things I’m going to like about being 29.
Here are some of my favorite things about 28:
Lars.
Pink flowers.
Grapefruit and avocado salads.
Mint and yellow and purple houses in New Orleans.
Sunny side up eggs.
Collecting beach glass.
Taking selfies with a Lichtenstein at Art Institute Chicago.
Playing giant chess with Carolyn at Malibu Cafe.
Taking pictures with my Mom.
Kissing Tim.
Every single thing about Tucson, Arizona.
Reading Wally Lamb books and also The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck.
Wearing my high school cheerleading uniform for Tim at Christmas.
Finding sea anemones in Santa Barbara.
Practicing Warrior 1 and downward dog poses in my garden when it’s warm.
Talking to my best friend John on the phone every single day.
When Tim and I went to the East coast and we saw big clams and bright stars in Maine and New England leaves in fall time.
Eating Wellflleet oysters in Wellfleet.
And also, the rose garden in Portland, Oregon.
I think sometimes it surprises people when I talk about the things I like because I know I talk a lot about the things that I don’t like.
Like, I know I say a lot of bad things about living in Seattle.
I’d be lying if I told you that my time here hasn’t been hopelessly hard for me. But, I’d also be lying if I told you that there wasn’t one good thing about living here.
Because of course there is.
Some good things about Seattle are E. Smith Mercantile and eating brunch with my friend Lyndsey who moved here from Boston in February. She always likes to eat everything I do, and also, we love to drink a lot of wine. I liked when Tim and I ate at Vendemmia in Madronna and ordered the beef tartar (actually, we always order the beef tartar, everywhere). I like the weed stores, the whole Dungeness crabs at Pike Place Market, the tile floor at Delaurenti and passionfruit Ellenos yogurt. I’m happy when Tim and I get coffees in shops and that Lars likes to roll around in the bushes in the front yard of our house. I like watching Tim jump into Lake Washington off the diving board and the bald eagles that live in our neighborhood. I like the Chihuly Museum of Glass and The Elliot Bay Book Co. The cherries are juicy and there are so many flowers everywhere in the summer and blackberries, too.
And it’s also more than all that.
The other day Tim and I went down to the lake to lay in the sun for a few hours before we had to go to work. The day was terrifically bright and really warm. Across the lake was Mount Rainier. It’s a majestic sight, if you’ve never seen it. The ever-snow capped mountain, in all it’s enormity, seems so close to us. It looms.
Laying there in the sun, admiring the mountain, I started to think about all the places and things of beauty in Washington that I’ve seen while living here.
The mountains really are magical, crowded with trees that are so tall and so green. When the light bends through the branches, it’s long and golden. Out in the woods, the air smells herbal and wet but clean. And it’s so quiet. You can hear wind sounds and bird calls and always cascading water.
I really love all the water. The state of Washington is flowing with lots of foaming rivers and dotted with lots of secret lakes. Here, the water is emerald and cold and uncontaminated.
In the summer, the sunsets are late and deep. The sky glows in a twist of pink and orange and yellow clouds. When the sun finally sets, well after 9 p.m., daylight lingers and the day stretches on to an impossibly late hour. It stays warm all through the night.
During some times of the year, there are so many flowers. Like in spring, in the Skagit Valley region, where every year the fertile land is decorated with millions of neat rows of every color of tulip you could imagine. Yellow, white, red, pink, purple.
In Seattle, we eat food that is fresh and seasonable. We love farm to table concepts and locally sourcing all the time. The seafood is stellar. We love good, craft beer in abundance. My favorite Washington produce is the Walla Walla sweet onion.
We also, Tim and I both, have a lot of family and strong roots in the Pacific Northwest. Tim’s brother lives with his wife in North Seattle and his parents have a house in Kirkland. I have a thousand cousins here and foundations in this region that are as old as some of the trees.
I really do know that there are worse places to be.
But, the very best part about Seattle, or Washington generally, seems obvious.
It’s Tim, of course.
I love him so much.
So, so much.
You all know that.
He’s so fucking smart. I admire his mind and his thoughtfulness and his sympathetic spirit. He’s creative and his hugs are strong and he eats everything I cook.
He’s honest.
He’s patient.
He’s appreciative.
Tim is fashionable and punctual and also, he makes me laugh every single day.
I loved him at 27 and 28 and, now, I love him at 29, too.
When I’m 29, I’d like to go on a trip to somewhere exotic. With Tim.
I’d like to do a lot of ocean swimming.
I’d like to invest in a heavy-duty, stainless steel garlic press.
I’d really like someone in Santa Barbara to hire me.
I’d like for Tim and Lars and I to find a little house that we could live in that has big windows and hardwood floors and built-in bookshelves.
Some other things that I am going to love when I am 29 are going to be:
Lars.
Moving to Santa Barbara.
Waking up earlier.
Drinking more beet and carrot juice.
Applying sunscreen daily.
Beach camping.
Wearing body glitter.
Pickling vegetables.
Eating dinner with my Dad.
And probably a lot more things, too.
I’ll just have to let you know what they are, next year, when I turn 30.
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