34
Since my birthday usually falls smack in the middle of Thanksgiving, it's rare that I get to spend much quality time celebrating with friends who scatter across the country for family dinners and football watching. For a few years, I hosted "holidays for the homeless homos" -- turkey, pumpkin pie and all the rest -- for a small band who had nowhere else to go for food and fellowship but one of the few drawbacks of increased acceptance of gays and lesbians in recent years has been a declining interest in such an affair. My friends are all going home, where they finally feel they belong.So for Turkey Day, it's just me and Mother Graham these days.
But my birthday celebration this year has been simply grand, thank you, observed as it was over the past five days (and the final, "cooling-off" day tomorrow) as the Season of brAdvent. It's provided an opportunity to dine and drink with small groups from my chosen family, to share good conversation, humor and hugs before everyone goes their separate ways to feast.
The fact that I've not paid for a meal, been recognizably sober or slept alone since Thursday is a happy side benefit. I have a feeling brAdvent will be a welcome addition to my holiday calendar from now on.
(My Jewish friend Marsha, who also has a November birthday, expressed some jealousy that I was taking six days to celebrate. I suggested that next year she might want to observe "Marshashana".)
Anyway, around 3:27 this morning, I officially began my 35th year and, I've got to say, 34 has been just swell so far. The Fifth Feast of brAdvent, followed by an evening at the theatre with friends (Pippin, and what better way to mark by birthday than with the musical story of a young man who -- much like myself -- goes through the trials of war, love and politics before finding himself?), still beckons.
I may not yet have found my "Corner of the Sky", as the title character of the play yearns to do, but my little corner of the Earth suits me just fine, thankyouverymuch.





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