It's Ann, or--pardon me, Ann--our baby. On this rainy October 30, 2009, our baby is 30. That's my view of it. For her part, she leaves her twenties behind forever. But 30. That makes a person sound solid, serious, stable, more so than twenty-something. Right?
It was not raining the day Ann was born. We could look out the windows of that Caldwell hospital and see sunshine. At least that's how I remember it. I'm not much for omens, but if I were, that would be a good one. Either way, rain or shine, Ann has been sunshine in our lives ever since the moment of her birth.
She was, as my mother would say, a cute little rig. She is still cute but has grown out of being a rig and into being a statuesque and lovely woman. Lovely she just is, and I say 5'9" is statuesque. Certainly Ann is taller than her mother who always wished to be be tall because Wayne was tall. So, obviously, Ann gets her height from her dad.
She gets her wit and wisdom and cleverness from . . . well, I'd say it has two sources:
- she brought a lot of it with her in her genes
- life experience has provided her with the rest.
But besides that, she's a college graduate; a natural-born teacher; a smart person; really good writer; veteran of some interesting work places and survivor of that one place whose name escapes me with the weird, controlling dr who was her boss; wife and partner of Jeremy; mom of two great boys and of one coming that might be a girl (it could happen, you know); maker of bread and Halloween costumes and jam and many good foods; good friend; former property manager/psychological counselor (and survivor of that); reader and thinker; all-around dependable person.
I love her. I know her dad loves her just the same as he did that day he held her on his shoulder and they both fell asleep. Aren't we glad to have a picture of that?
We have always been proud of her. Always.
Happy Birthday, Ann.
2 comments:
love it. my only suggestion for improvement: include the picture of sleeping Dad and Ann. reading the post makes me want to see it. but it's not there. boo. Happy Birthday, Boonies.
michelangelo:
Ann has the picture.
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