checks the time Yes, it’s already Monday.
te deseamos Dani,
If you don’t like that shade of blue, not my problem: I do, and it’s my singing, so you’re stuck with it!
I’m a mid-March baby, so usually it’s Lent. That meant things like “forget about celebrating it on a Friday” even if it happened to be Friday. It also meant that almost every year one of the two nearest weekends was was the weekend my parents went to Spiritual Exercises; it’s yet another place in which I got to play elder sister not just to my own brothers but to a gaggle of kids I wasn’t even related to. Sometimes it feels like my childhood was spent trying to keep two dozen ever-changing brats from killing each other
When I was in high school, it was always the Rectorales, the school’s party weekend. Dinner with your class / your friends /whatever but outside your house followed by a dance at a local disco on Friday, fun and games at the school on Saturday, Mass and fun and games on Sunday. The 12th graders got to have dinner and dance at the school on Saturday, but any similarity with an American graduation party is an unintentional coincidence. So in high school I got to PARTEEEEE for my birthday without going through the angst of organizing a birthday party to which not a single boy would come, because I share my birthday with one of my male classmates and our mothers refused to merge both parties. This is specially sucky when you’re in an inactive state of war with most of the class’s girls.
The bestestest birthday ever was the year I turned 13. That year’s Spiritual Exercises were in our town (15-20’ from our house on foot, through streets with almost no traffic) and I was allowed to sleep at home. I still had to be in the House at 10am and stay until 8pm (when they had dinner), to babysit, but man… I had our flat all to myself. I could watch TV (not that there was much to watch, but I could) without being told to switch it off or being subjected to a stream of criticism; and on Saturday, the nun who was the official “caretaker of children” gave me permission to leave at 6, so I got to catch most of Tocata, which along with the Sunday morning classical concert was 100% of music programming at the time - and I watched it without Dad providing commentary. And I could play music at volumes higher than the absolute minimum, and read a book lying down on the bed without being yelled at, and when I woke up I didn’t need to be careful to avoid waking anybody up.
Freedom. The bestest birthday present EVER.
Well, OK: we’ll accept “life” as a close second.