It all started with the invitation that was sent out at the beginning of July:
It didn't take long to have an impressive list of guests.
About ten days before the event, I started stressing (because that's what I do). Crazy dreams started happening (did I talk to xx? did I even see y?? OMG, I don't remember eating, was the buffet even put out?). You get the idea -- I'm a nut bar!
Anyway, the day finally came and then it was party time.
Someone from every decade of my life was there: my first ever best friend (since 1950); a high school friend (1966); my closest friend through the 70s (although we met in 1967), and my little chickadee also joined me in 1975 of course; two friends since the 80s; and a respectable collection of very good friends from the 90s (some inherited me when John introduced the new woman in his life; I inherited a wonderful extended family when he and I married); my beautiful boy joined us in 2001, and my step daughter-in-law just last year.
It would seem that a good time was had by all. Certainly we made the right choice of venue for the event (we had been married there in 1997 so we knew we weren't going to be disappointed).
Unfortunatley, a few guests had to leave before the party ended, and catching photos with each proved a bit challenging, but I think we got at least one shot of everyone.
After having a perfectly scrumptious meal (the early departees did get to enjoy the food and cake!), it was time to open gifts. My beautiful boy had earlier been designated helper for the event, and what a wonderful helper he was. He had been instructed to give his Mom's gift last, but he was jumping out of his skin with excitement to get to that gift, so he was shoving the gifts at me with lightning speed (arthritic fingers are very slow to open some packages!).
Once all other gifts had been opened, it was finally time to get to the 'piece de resistance' -- the one he most wanted me to open. He kept whispering to me at each step, "Open this one now," "You have to pay really close attention," "Careful you don't tear it," "Do you know what it is yet?" "There's clues on the bag." He had helped his Mom decorate the bag with clues to the contents and poor old Grandma is absolutely useless with symbols -- I need words! (Even knowing what I hoped the gift would be, I couldn't figure out what the clues on the bag represented -- my sister (who is older, so therefore wiser?) promptly yelled out the answer.
The gifts, in order of being handed to me, were: (a) a photo of the CN Tower, (b) a calendar of December 1963 with the words "Oh What a Night!", (c) a Jersey Milk chocolate bar, and (d) a photocopy of an ad for the Jersey Boys production at the Toronto Centre for the Arts with a banner of "Sunday, August 15, 2010" written across the top. The bag was decorated with pictures depicting winter, spring, summer and fall (The Four Seasons).
Normally a card is given at the beginning of a presentation, but he had been instructed to give me the birthday card last, because inside the card was the message: "Mom, Your presence is requested on Porter flight 252, bound for Toronto, leaving Ottawa at 10:30am Sunday August 15, 2010. Accompanying you on the flight will be your little chickadee, Pauple, and your beautiful boy. While in Toronto the girls will attend the 2:00pm performance of Jersey Boys at the Toronto Centre for the Arts; the boys will do something else! You will return to Ottawa at 8:00pm to have a sleepover. Happy 60th Birthday, enjoy your gift!"
The photographer snapped the picture when I looked like I was in agony -- but I can assure you that I could not have been more delighted with the gift. I have theeeee greatest daughter ever!
I'm going to see The Jersey Boys! Yes I am!
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