The phone rang, and it was the neighbors, singing the most awful, horrible and magnificently beautiful rendition of Happy Birthday I’d ever heard.
I couldn’t stop laughing.
It was off-key, wobbly, interspersed with laughter and a high-pitched fake vibrato. I could picture them in their kitchen, a mile away, with mussed hair and jammies and arms stretched out wide, with their eyes cinched tightly as they welcomed me into a new decade.
I set down my coffee cup, held the phone to my ear, closed my eyes and sang along with their gravely, wobbly, magnificently horrendous version of a 40th birthday song.
Man, it was gorgeous.
And behind my closed eyelids, it was all fluid joy. Knowing that someone loved me enough, to be silly enough, to gather ’round a phone, and just call to sing a song. I was important enough to love.
I held my breath, and I held that moment, pure gold, in my hands, knowing that life at 40 isn’t about brushing up my life’s exteriors, but finding beauty in the middle of the tarnish.
And if we can’t be a singer,
we can still be a song.
(I’ve a mind to be one today.)
Joining with Gypsy-Mama’s Five-Minute Friday, in which we’re given one word, and five minutes to just write. This week’s word: REAL. I don’t think I used the word “real” here, but it was the glorious moment that came to mind. Happy weekend, everyone. Now … go be a song! 🙂