A Smashing Good Birthday

April again. Seems like a good long while since it was here last. My golden year made its final curtain call as the 24^th approached. What a truly golden year it turned out to be. So much new love in my life for people and places, so many experiences I’m privileged to have had. Reflecting on all of these developments, I floated my way through a beautiful Tuesday. Over an early morning coffee I penned long overdue postcards and buried myself in the wonderful Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. During the day I bounced all over, polishing up applications with students and visiting our Grade 12s in holiday tuition. I had a lunchtime call from my family and it was great to hear from them. Too quickly, it was 6 o’clock and the drowsing sun was waving its last goodbyes. I had planned a small dinner for the evening with the help of two friends, preferring some Chinese cuisine to my usual night of cooking. Most of my friends had apologetically excused themselves, citing work overloads or previous commitments. As it had been last minute, I wasn't too surprised and was happy to share dinner with an intimate bunch. It turns out I had been systematically deceived and manipulated, in the best sort of way. Walking into the restaurant, still completely and embarrassingly oblivious, I found a room filled with people. It truly made me feel very loved that they would all come out, and I have to really thank my friends Cecile and Jes for organising the whole con. We enjoyed a delicious meal, and afterwards, gathered around the television to watch Chelsea take on a heavily favored Barcelona side in the Champions League semi-final.

In the days leading up to the game I had received my share of sympathetic looks and condolences, the general consensus being that Barcelona was going to destroy my favored side. The first half of the game didn’t do much to sway that belief either; as Barcelona scored early and Chelsea defender John Terry received a red card, leaving his side to play a man down for the remainder of the match. But a beautiful goal from Ramires and a dogged defensive strategy found Chelsea in the default lead as the second half came to a close. The tension built as the Spanish side, dominating possession, took shot after shot on the Chelsea goal. Finally, it came to a head, but not how anyone would’ve expected. Torres, having done little since coming in as a sub, suddenly found himself on a breakaway, miles away from the nearest defender. One on one with the keeper, he calmly sidestepped and, with utmost composure, tucked the ball into the back of the net. Improbably, near impossibly, Chelsea had won and moved onto the final, reversing the shame of their loss in the same situation three years ago, and giving me a very special birthday gift. In summation, it was about as spectacular as birthdays come.

You may be wondering about the title of this post. “Has he renounced his identity?” you might be asking yourself, “does he suddenly think he’s a Brit?” Not to worry, my American slang heritage has retained its integrity. “Smashing” is a literal reference, in truth, to the day after my birthday. A very windy day it has been. An adolescent wind is blowing, temperamental and dramatic, and like an adolescent, still coming to terms with its strength. Backing the van out of the driveway today, a particularly ugly outburst grabbed hold of one side of the open gate, slamming it shut directly into the rear window of the van. The wind will definitely not be going to prom now. Completely shattered, there was nothing to do but remove the glass and pick up the pieces. KF’s ever-helpful accountant was on the scene in no time. Together we went through the surprisingly (even by Zambia standards) complicated process of filing an insurance claim. We drove all over town (me just a little bit closer to owning a convertible) to collect the necessary documentation. Back and forth: my house to police station to insurance company to garage. My favorite part of the day was when we had to go back to my house to type up the handwritten police report, print it, and return to the police station for his signature (“who cares if we don’t have computers? All reports still need to be typed!”) 6 hours later, the paperwork was united in bureaucratic bliss and the claim was filed. Now let’s just hope it doesn’t rain between now and the new window…