Memories of July 26

It's probably a good thing I don't remember 1964. It can't have been very pleasant.

There are pictures of 1967 and 1968, black and white, with me, candles, and kids I can't name.

1974 was significant because of double digits, but also because I met my Aunt M for the first time, though back then she was my uncle's girlfriend, not my Aunt M. We had a big family party up at the lake with swimming all day and charades at night. My mom's friend J gave me a tape of 1974ish music, folkie variety: The Weavers, Peter, Paul, and Mary, Judy Collins, "The Sinking of the Reuben James," "If I Had A Hammer," "Puff the Magic Dragon," that sort of thing. It was my family's favorite tape ever, and I'd give up lots of S's jazz CDs to recover it. I also remember this one because later M made me a book about it with photographs she'd taken.

1987 was the first year I had to go to work (camp counselor doesn't count). I was depressed. But then my mom sent balloons to my office and a friend took me out to lunch, and it wasn't so bad. Then my wallet was stolen out of my bag on the Metro, and it was bad. Then we went to see the Neville Brothers and I charmed the bartenders into giving me many free drinks by telling them what day it was and that my wallet had been stolen, and it wasn't so bad. Then I looked up and the Neville Brothers were on stage, and then I looked up and they were gone, and then I looked up and I was in Mr. Eagan's, presumably drinking some more, and then I looked up and I was at home and my housemate was putting me to bed, and I really can't remember if it was bad or not.

In 1993 I was directing a summer camp, and the whole camp surprised me with a celebration. After lunch, I was blindfolded, carried down to the lake in a cart, and put in a canoe. When the blindfold was removed, S and I were out on the raft where they had built a table, two chairs, and a flower-covered bower. They had baked a cake, and the entire camp was standing on the shore singing to me. That was pretty much the best ever.

1994 was numerically significant but sucked a lot. I was at camp again, it rained, and I had to go to an all-day meeting, and then to a dinner, where I was seated across from my least-favorite person there. The only good thing was the new red dress I wore.

In 1996, baby M was nine weeks old. My friend M came up to visit from Santa Cruz, we went out for sushi, and I was happy.

After that, May 24 and then December 21 became a lot more important than July 26.

In 2003, my sister made a party for me out in Country Town. My mom came, and K, and my oldest friend C and her family, and B and her family, and P whom I hadn't seen in 15 years, but whose daughter turned up in my nephew's first grade class that year. We ate lobsters at a big table out on the lawn, and my sister decorated the cake with tiger lilies. It was like one of those French movies that make you want to sit at a big table out on the lawn and eat and drink wine with your family and friends, except that we were doing it, not watching it.

2004 rocked. I finished a huge project on July 23. On July 24 we had a big party with ginger daquiris, Japanese lanterns ringing the yard, two cakes (I couldn't decide between fruit and chocolate so we got both), and the last guest sent home at 3:30 the next morning. On July 26, I read all afternoon at J's house while M played with N (E and E were at camp), and then we went out for sushi (a familial birthday habit), and S gave me a vintage Vivienne Westwood kilt and the catalogs from the Ossie Clark, Elsa Schiaparelli, and Vivienne Westwood exhibits we'd seen that spring.

Today I'm going to have breakfast with my college roommate, and then M and I are going to go get my friend who has been up at her parents' sitting shiva for her brother. This evening we'll go out to dinner with my mom and stepfather. It should be a good day; it usually is.

Tune in tomorrow for memories of July 27. (1964: Milk! 1987: Hangover!)