I woke up to breakfast in bed and then spent the day coloring, making fruit loop necklaces and playing bingo at the old folks home. I never thought I would color and make fruit loop necklaces on my 24th birthday but what can I say…
I came home to find 24 balloons, a Dora Feliz Cumpleanos sign, a Little Mermaid colored picture from one of the Casa Maria residents and a hilarious pinata. It has become a tradition on our team that we write each year on 24 balloons filled with hand written notes. For every year we have to say a memory and then pop the balloon to find the note inside.
The pinanta, my fruit loop crown and the Little Mermaid picture
While this was all wonderful, one of the best birthday gifts were two stories; one written by my mom and the other by my sister. I posted my moms below and will post my sisters in my next blog…Enjoy!
PS They were competing to see which one was the best so let me know what you think.
Survived by Margaret
Mary Jane LaVigne
Survived by her daughter Margaret I wrote in pencil in a small red spiral notebook. I was sitting on a rock on the edge of Greenstone Lake in the Superior National Forest. It was 1987. I was on an Outward Bound trip for adults. I’d been left on an island for the traditional survival solo with a knife, a tarp, a granola bar, and the assignment to write my obituary.
Turkey buzzards circled. Where the water lapped the rock there was a beaver, recently dead, its skull still meaty. The buzzards squawked from overhead but didn’t dare land close. My rock had the best view, so I wasn’t moving. The buzzards had to wait. I was having trouble with my death.
I’d grown up with big ideas and bigger plans. By my late twenties high political office and a career in television both seemed pretty unlikely. Being a minor Wall Street big-shot was a legitimate option. But my old visions of success just wouldn’t land.
I poked the carcass with a stick, examining the powerful jaw, and considering the way of all flesh. Desire can change abruptly, shimmering at the edge of long-polished goals. That’s how Maggie came to me. I wrote those words down and was surprised to find I wanted to be a mother.
Maggie is twenty-four today. She’ll spend the day facing death working in an old folks home in Guatemala. Two years ago, this time of year she graduated from college. Last year she received her masters. I was proud of her then, I’m prouder of her now. Taking credit is tempting but dangerous. Things turn out as they do, both because of and despite our best intentions. Nonetheless, I’m going to pause, just this day, in complete satisfaction with what my life has yielded.
Greenstone is Earth’s oldest rock, formed of first magma. It’s a fitting setting to have dreamed up such an elemental girl. My first Magma, my dear, my darling girl, don’t despair down there in the old folks home. Life has a funny way of coming forth from rot. I have a beaver jaw, bleached now, a quarter century old to prove it.
