My husband Charles has tried a lot of different things over the years to commemorate my March 1 birthday.
One year he tried to take me to Savannah for a riverboat dinner and cruise. It was a wonderful idea, but that day it rained harder than I think I’ve ever seen it rain. We turned around about half way there and came home. I love Savannah, and I love River Street, but not in the pouring, flooding rain that had spread from here all the way to the coast ahead of us.
Another year, bless his heart, he tried a small get-together at a local restaurant, only to have those plans dashed by violent thunderstorms and the imminent threat of tornadoes all that evening.
Then still another year, the two of us and my side-kicks (aka “the girls”) Shirley and Virginia, went to my favorite place – Jekyll Island – for the weekend, only to have a howling, cold north wind and patchy rain, along with some bored spring-breakers staying at our hotel, dampen that trip. The girls didn’t complain, but I’m sure they would have preferred to be somewhere else.
We have made a few overnight trips to the mountains or the beach that have been in good weather and I’ve enjoyed those very much – but most of the time, early March is just not a good time to plan much of anything.
But I knew he (with the help of other family members) was trying to come up with something again this year for my 50th birthday. The whispering started, along with furtive phone conversations and a wiley, well-executed plan designed to get me into Athens to for a joint “family” celebration with my great-niece, Lindsey, whose 11th birthday was the following day.
And it was all going along pretty well - until the snow started.
Our daughter Miranda and her boyfriend, Josh, had shown up (as part of the ruse to throw me off the trail) with a small cake and ice cream shortly after the heavy rain changed over to snow and they were forced to hurry away for the trip back into Athens. It took them two hours with several close calls to make the 30-minute drive.
Charles went down to his shop, ostensibly to get the generator since the power had gone out, but also (he told me later) to make more phone calls, this time to call the whole thing off.
But hey, the day wasn’t so bad, I’d said it’d be nice to have snow on my birthday, though I was thinking of the usual one inch or so dusting of the white stuff. And I look at this way – I won’t soon forget my 50th, which brought the Great Snowstorm of ’09.
And for her part, Lindsey loved it – as I would have at her age.
Charles and his accomplices were disappointed, but I really wasn’t after I found out about it, after all it is the thought that counts, and everyone, particularly my husband, went to a lot of trouble for me. That’s a nice birthday gift in itself.
For my part, I promise to never say again that “a little snow would be nice for my birthday.” (But I don’t want tornadoes either.)
Margie Richards is a reporter and office manager for The Madison County Journal.
