Tag: birthdays

Every endless winter

It’s my husband’s birthday today. He said I didn’t have to write anything for it, but I will anyway.

A bearded and long-haired white man wearing a gray suit stands in a messy apartment, reading a folded paper.

I’ve lived in the Midwest all my life, but I’ve never quite felt at home here. Between the interminable winters and the accompanying seasonal depression, the years spent shuttling back and forth from one dormitory to my parents’ house to another, and the mosquitoes that, for some reason, find my blood especially delicious, I spent a good portion of my life feeling unrooted and unwelcome in the land of my birth.

And then I met Kyle. He asked me which of the Canterbury Tales was my favorite, and told me never to trust Mordred Pendragon.

We’ve lived in seven apartments over the course of our relationship. As we went from one long Midwestern winter to another, and packed up our lives year after year, I learned that home isn’t a place.

I’ve learned so many other things as well: about Roman military tactics, the Mongol invasions, American imperialism; how to change a tire on a bicycle; and that it’s possible for someone’s skills and interests to so perfectly complement your own that you can spend hours creating worlds together and the stories to take place in them.

Happy birthday to my handsome, steadfast, brilliant husband; my traveling partner, my historical consultant, and my home through every endless winter. All my words are for you.

A house beside the ocean

This is my best friend, Brooke. She turns 30 on Monday, and I wanted to write something in honor of her birthday.

A young white woman with deep red hair looks wistfully off into the distance. She is wearing a pink lace vest over a white wedding dress, a jeweled headband, and a small, pink crocheted dragon on her shoulder.

We met in college, almost ten years ago, and as our birthdays are exactly one week apart, we have been celebrating them jointly ever since. Over the years, we’ve lived in different cities, close together and far apart, worn a lot of costumes, changed our hair colors countless times, and signed each other’s marriage documents. She even introduced me to my husband. She’s one of the most hardworking, compassionate, and brilliant people I’ve ever met.

It’s hard to describe how much she’s meant to me over this past near-decade. I could tell you that I used to want to be her when I grew up, but I learned over the years that there will only ever be one Brooke (and of course I would be better as myself than a poor simulacrum of someone else). I could tell you that she’s taught me that it’s important to always fight for what you believe in, no matter how small you feel; that one should take any opportunity to dance when it’s given; that a multitude of problems can be helped by a nice cup of tea; and that creativity is most important in life, second only to love. I think even this, however, does not do her justice.

So I will tell you this. We grew up, and life and its hardships get in the way, and I see her as often as I can and not as often as I would like. But every time I do see her, it is like stopping at a house beside the ocean in the middle of a great journey. The road is long, a storm gathers on the far horizon, and the waves crash on the beach below, but inside there is warmth and safety. There are wildflowers hanging from the rafters to dry, and a kettle just beginning to sing, and the weary smile of a friend who has walked the same paths and climbed the same cliffs. Tomorrow, the road will still be there, but for now, all is well, and there is time to rest.

To Brooke, my best friend, birthday buddy, partner in crimes against fashion: have the most wonderful of days, and may the year ahead bring you manyfold all the blessings you have brought me.