66th birthday with Marianne, my birthday ‘twin’

My grandfather was born in December in Russia. He didn’t know his actual birth date (no records were kept), so chose Christmas as his birthday. Why not. The world came to a halt and the family would always come to Toledo to celebrate with him. We gathered at a nice hotel and aunts, uncles and cousins would enjoy a lovely meal. Lots of photos and film (my dad was the photographer and I have the now-on-video recordings) of people being kissed by Grandpa in front of a beautifully decorated Christmas tree. As I reflect on this, it reeks of irony, since my grandparents with two babies, had to flee Russia after the horrific pogroms, seeking to kill all the Jews, in 1906. Nevertheless, in Toledo, OH, my grandfather was safe and prosperous.

I, too, am a December baby…the 10th to be exact. But that date, coming as it does so close to Hanukkah, meant that I frequently got one big, combined gift, rather than a birthday gift, followed by Hanukkah gifts (when I was young there would be small Hanukkah presents). I always felt sort of cheated by the proximity of my birthday falling on or close to the holiday.

6th birthday, 12/10/1958

Here you see me on my 6th birthday in my father’s favorite photo spot and can see the Happy Hanukkah sign hung above the mantel, as it was year after year, in every birthday photo. I am sure my dress was pink and was a gift from my Aunt Stella, who provided many such birthday dresses. The events were co-mingled.

Once I had children, Hanukkah, again, took on greater meaning. It is actually a fairly minor holiday that has only taken on greater significance due to its proximity to Christmas on the calendar. We lit the candles every night, decorated the house (yes, there was a sign like the one from my childhood, but it was strung up in the kitchen where we could see it all the time). And presents for each child on all eight nights of Hanukkah. This all fell to me, as my husband traveled a great deal for business. One night he came home late and found me on the floor of the den, surrounded by wrapping paper, tape, presents and other stuff, barely visible. As he walked by, I uttered a little, “Help me!” He laughed, walked to the bedroom to unpack from his travels.

Here are David and Jeffrey in 1991, as youngsters, enjoying blessing the candles and a holiday gift of “Goofy” slippers.

My 50th before “Gangs of New York” premiere in NYC

The summer before my 50th birthday, knowing that the movie would premiere the night before the actual date, and knowing that I am a Daniel Day-Lewis freak, Dan bought tickets at a summer charity auction for the premiere of “Gangs of New York”. My dear friend Christie decided to join us and here we are before going next door to the theater. You can see the Christmas tree in the background. ‘Tis the season. Always. The party following the screening was at the New York Public Library, which was beautifully festooned in holiday decorations. It was a glorious time to be in the city, though none of us much cared for the movie (Christie hated it, I decided it was like grand opera…the plot was messy and made no sense, but it looked good).

Since the time I was a kid at summer camp, I wrote holiday cards to all the girls in my cabin, plus all my friends. I wrote a personal note to everyone. It took a lot of time and effort to get them all out. I discontinued that project after I married, but started up again with David’s arrival, some 34 years ago. I have a copy of every photo card since that beginning, and wrote a personal note to everyone. I wrote to each of my cousins, friends through the ages, other relatives, parents’ friends…a long list. About 20 years ago, I added the dreaded “year in review” letter and standardized my list. I mail to about 200 people at this point. My husband mocks me for it, but I’ve done an informal survey and I do believe that my friends and relatives would miss my annual missive if they didn’t hear from me. It does take quite a bit of time and effort at the beginning of December to get everything done (make sure I have a good photo, write the letter, update the mailing list, etc). Some, inevitably, get returned; wrong address with no forwarding information, a few deaths each year. It is rare for me to drop someone from my list. I will never drop a relative, but if I haven’t heard from a friend for years, I may give warning, then after several years, I may finally give up and take them off the list. I hate to lose people. I set up in my study and run a production for weeks before the project is finished. Some people I just email to (my husband thinks more should just get emails), but I think getting something in the mail remains special. I used to hang large ribbons in my front hall and hang all the cards from them. Now they are set up on my piano. That is part of the season.

When my youngest was in kindergarten, I discovered that his friend’s mother and I not only share a birthday, we are exactly the same age. I am 45 minutes older, so we call ourselves the “birthday twins” and celebrate together every year. Last year’s celebration (our 66th birthday) is the Featured photo. If our birthday is a weekday, we may go to lunch together, as we will this year. When it falls on a weekend, we include our husbands and go out for a fancy dinner, as we have the past few years.

I have another friend, though many years younger, who also has a December birthday and we always have a birthday lunch a bit later in the month too. I have two other lunches planned the week of my birthday and always have a rich chocolate cake on the evening of my birthday with a good friend.

Well, last year, my birthday fell on a Monday when I had choir practice. Of course they sang “Happy birthday” to me in 4-part harmony, and my best Soprano buddy made a scrumptious cake with butter cream frosting for the snack that night. Yummy! I believe in celebrating. As someone once said, call it the “Month of Betsy”!

Betsy Pfau
Retired from software sales long ago, two grown children. Theater major in college. Singer still, arts lover, involved in art museums locally (Greater Boston area). Originally from Detroit area.