birthday - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
At this age, a birthday is a quiet day. It is a day to reflect on the year that was and what is ahead to strive for. I guess it is a sort of personal "New Year," one where resolutions can be made, promises to the self. For me, I plan to be bolder, to speak louder about the ideas I have for making a better world for all life on Earth. Perhaps that extra bit of bravery, that extra bit of willpower and resolve, is the real gift to myself from me. This time next year I will be a better person, then make another resolution the year after.
It was the perfect birthday in every sense, and in all the ways only the universe can give. It was a summers day in April, the first day blossom opened on the tree. It was there as I opened my curtains, a beautiful nature's gift. There was the cycle lane in town, newly marked in fresh white paint and the strangers who said they were reached by my writing, that they were helped. There was the unexpected wait for a friend that lead me into the chocolate shop, then precious time with the friend, with someone proud to be seen with me, someone who listens and cares. The evening stretches ahead, time with my three favourite people in the world, my kids, the ones who hold my heart in their eyes.
I will never know when his real birthday is or his true age, he could be turning two or three this year and I wouldn't know it. So I have picked a day to be his birthday. On whatever day I feel the fist kiss of warmth from the sun after winter will be his day. Calendars are meaningless, but the easing of winter never will be. I have called him Darwin, he responds to it well. Now that I've given up on re-homing him he gets a bit more affection, a bit. I don't have a tap I can just turn on for him, I have to learn and so does he. I have been foraging all week for his day and have found an action figure from some movie neither of us will ever see. But its joints move and it has a helmet that flicks open with the touch of a button. It's my first gift to him as my son. That three letter word feels odd in my head. Son. I will have to fill one of the other vaults for when he comes of age. There will be so much he needs and you can't trade for it all.
Found in Darwin's Ghost - first draft, authored by .
Even at sixty-six he was like a little kid for his birthdays. Grandma would make him a pile of chocolate chip pancakes and he'd bounce out of bed like he was still in grade-school. Then he'd rip the paper off his new gardening gloves (we got him some every year) and he'd exclaim that it was just what he wanted. Then we'd all go to the pitch 'n' putt where he'd loose spectacularly to his youngest grandchild. Finally we'd all go to his favorite steak-house for a slap up late lunch, followed by a birthday cake, always Oreo and chocolate. In the evening he'd sit up with a single malt-whiskey and make a toast to another wonderful year of good health, good friends and a great family.
There you are! I was wondering if you’d come; but I messed up, I’m really sorry. Can we do this Monday? It’s just that I can’t see you on weekends. My husband is home and he needs things to be just family, you know how it is. Plus my daughter is thirteen years old today, a teenager, eh? Now there’s something to celebrate. I forgot to put the yeast in the cinnamon buns though. Can you believe it? Me of all people - I make them as beautiful as any baker three times a week and when it really matters I forget something as basic as that. They came out like a pre-school cooking project, you know, the ones where the moms eat it and fake a smile for the sake of their little one. They should have been delicious, all that butter and sugar, but they look and taste awful. So I’m not in the best of moods to be honest. Oh, well, I can whip up a batch of macaroons and have them baked in twenty minutes so that’s what it’ll have to be instead. She might prefer them anyway.
I’m sorry, you’re not really here for all that are you? Where are my manners? You aren’t interested in knowing these boring mundane things. We’re off out to lunch at my daughter’s favourite Italian restaurant. I’m so looking forward to it, fresh pasta and creamy sauces. Love it. Oh, I’m side tracking again, I do that a lot. Stop me anytime, I’ve always been a bit of a gabber. You look serious, what’s up?
Found in Are you awake yet? - first draft, authored by .
Every year on her birthday she felt like she died a little more. Every year it was a reminder of her twin who had died in a car crash when they were young. She had survived and the guilt of it nearly engulfed her daily. Now she had a partner, and he liked to make a fuss, invite friends over, have a party. How could she choose a pretty frock from her closet when all she wanted to do was throw herself on her sister's grave and stay there forever?
"Your problem is that you expect too much. Every year you wait like an expectant puppy for a juicy bone and every year all you get is the same old bowl of dry kibble. Grow up. Your just a year older, flabbier and wrinklier. No-one cares!"
Marvin's birthday loomed on the horizon like a personal tsunami. He felt like being 50 would drag him bodily up the beach and throw him in the raging water like a rag doll; leaving only the body of a decrepit old man behind.
At the ice cream parlour Danny stood with hands spread over the chilled glass like dark sea stars. If there had been three choices he would have picked one long ago, but the array put his mind into a happy tingle of possibilities. There wasn't just all the flavours, but all the possible combinations. At least the choice of cone was simple enough, a waffle cone dipped in chocolate with sprinkles. It didn't come cheap of course, but then reaching your fourth birthday is a reason to celebrate. After a few more moments he turned round to his Mom, "Mom, what should I get?" She smiled, it was hard even for her to know what to choose.
"Well," she said, "chocolate is always my favourite, perhaps with some pistachio and sauce on top?" Danny nodded, his grin instant.
Tilly has been paw print crazy as long as she could speak. Now, on the eve of her seventh birthday, she wakes me from the dead of sleep. Once the shock of waking wears off my eyes focus on the paw print vision in front of me; they are all over her apron, her dress and her socks. From her pinky dangles the new paw print cookie cutter we bought from the animal rescue place out in Dalton village. It's early enough for the room to still be dusky and I make to roll over. She squeals and places the cookie cutter in front of my eyes, holding it so close all I can see is the shine of the stainless steel. Before the sun is fully risen there will be birthday short bread in the kitchen, every one of them a golden dog paw. Then she'll sit on the edge of the couch watching the clock until we can pick up her helium paw print balloons and the cake that looks like an ink footed cat has leaped all over it.
Just when Odin was about to whine a clown burst in through the garden gate. He was as vivid as his mother's summer blooms - red hair more vibrant that a fire donned his head, starkly contrasting to the paper-white make-up of his face. His mouth was huge and raised into a smile and his steps had a bounce to them. Behind him trailed a mass of gay balloons, jostling in the brilliant rays, each as beautiful as the next. Then Odin spied his feet, clown feet! They were beyond large, at least twice the length of an ordinary shoe and they slapped into the grass like flippers. All thoughts of his complaint had been erased from his mind and he gawped to watch the figure approach, making a beeline right for him. How did he know? "Happy Birthday!" roared the clown and took him by the hand toward the best spot for his show. Even his "I am eight" badge couldn't outshine his smile.
“Dear Edward, I hope you liked the cow. Knowing how bad you are with names, I already named it, ‘Edward the Cow’! HA-HA! Also knowing how impatient you are (yes, mate, I know everything!), the answer is “No, silly. Cows go moo.” Happy Birthday! Your best friend, Zoe.”
Edward smiled stupidly at the card and wondered why his heart was beating so fast.