The cherry on the cake of my family's round-the-world trip in 1970 for me was definitely Disneyland. On my birthday. Like, wow!
As the child of relentless travellers, I often felt a trifle neglected when confronted with yet another cathedral, art gallery, museum and so on. And remember this was back in the day before child-friendly exhibits. I was occasionally rewarded with a trip to the local zoo, which could be a bit hit-or-miss, depending on how the poor animals were housed.
So far this trip I'd enjoyed some child-minding on the QE2 (on its ferry-trip from Southhampton to New York), I'd poured my Slinky down many hotel stairs, and I'd gone trick-or-treating (as a tiger) on the streets of suburban Philly. But I'd also had to endure many hours on Greyhound buses, as this was my father's favoured way of seeing the US. I get car-sick in buses, so I slept a lot of the way. But towards the end of our trip, we suddenly boarded a plane in New Mexico, and landed in California a short time later.
On our taxi ride from the airport to the hotel late at night, I woke up enough to see a sign printed with the outline of a castle, pointing the way to Disneyland. In my best-behaviour voice I asked if we "might just go and have a look at the castle, even just from the outside, we don't have to go in." This caused my parents to dissolve in laughter and explain to me that the entire day - my eighth birthday! - was to be spent at the theme park.
I don't know how I slept, but I was up early and clad in my birthday best for the day. And my father and I went on every ride that was open. I think my mother had a very boring day. Of course, a few rides were closed (it was November, after all) so I never went on the Pirates of the Caribbean. But I did go in the submarine ride, and on a rocketship, and in the Ghost House (twice!). I didn't get Mickey ears but I did get my name on a straw boater to take away with me, along with a blur of memories. I pulled Pinocchio's nose (poor man-in-the head) and he pulled mine back.
Best. Birthday. Ever.
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
1978 - Not-so-sweet 16
My father still reminds me about this birthday, which remains one of my clearest and best memories of my high school years in Canberra. He was solo parenting at the time, as my mother had taken one of her periodic trips to India to visit her parents. We'd had a hoot of a time, eating out regularly and going to the movies. I particularly remember seeing Pretty Baby together, no doubt for the New Orleans backdrop he's never seen in real life.
Life was pretty good for me at the time. My mother and I have never been close, so her absence was felt more for the lack of constant bickering rather than a sense of loss. I had a serious boyfriend - Andrew - and the lead in the school play, "Bye Bye Birdie". My closest girl friends all did Drama with me, and so I had the idea of a party that would be a complete improvisation.*
*Cheesy, I know, but I was 16, fer gossake!
I only have a vague recollection about the premise for the storyline, but it involved a death. We all dressed in black and had been summoned for the reading of the will. Of course we were all related to the imaginary deceased man - some as his children, others his wives, lovers, perhaps employees? I still have the photos of Joy in a black hat and sunglasses, and Bernie with a black lace veil. And I remember when someone arrived (was it Cheryl or Cathy?) it happened to coincide with the sound of a chopper overhead - so they played it seamlessly as if it had just dropped them off.
It was that year that saw the blossoming of my interest in the kitchen, so of course I catered the entire affair. My mother was buying a series of magazines from Good Housekeeping (which I have to this day) that offered step-by-step instructions for various gourmet goodies. I can't recall the appetizers (although it would probably have included some dip and cheeses) but I'm proud to recall I produced Chicken Kiev with Pommes Anna and finished with Chocolate Bavarois.
And for the entire affair we were waited on by my father. In his black trousers, stiff-fronted shirt and bow tie. He was addressed as "James" for the whole evening (his middle name) and boy did we keep him busy! I don't have a single picture of him that night, which saddens me. I know this memory will be one I'll keep with me when he dies. The last time he mentioned it to me, he said it occurred to him the other girls' parents might not surrender them so easily to such an affair in these days of perverts-behind-every-bush. But it was the best of times - and no doubt one of the most fun and inventive parties I've ever had.
Life was pretty good for me at the time. My mother and I have never been close, so her absence was felt more for the lack of constant bickering rather than a sense of loss. I had a serious boyfriend - Andrew - and the lead in the school play, "Bye Bye Birdie". My closest girl friends all did Drama with me, and so I had the idea of a party that would be a complete improvisation.*
*Cheesy, I know, but I was 16, fer gossake!
I only have a vague recollection about the premise for the storyline, but it involved a death. We all dressed in black and had been summoned for the reading of the will. Of course we were all related to the imaginary deceased man - some as his children, others his wives, lovers, perhaps employees? I still have the photos of Joy in a black hat and sunglasses, and Bernie with a black lace veil. And I remember when someone arrived (was it Cheryl or Cathy?) it happened to coincide with the sound of a chopper overhead - so they played it seamlessly as if it had just dropped them off.
It was that year that saw the blossoming of my interest in the kitchen, so of course I catered the entire affair. My mother was buying a series of magazines from Good Housekeeping (which I have to this day) that offered step-by-step instructions for various gourmet goodies. I can't recall the appetizers (although it would probably have included some dip and cheeses) but I'm proud to recall I produced Chicken Kiev with Pommes Anna and finished with Chocolate Bavarois.
And for the entire affair we were waited on by my father. In his black trousers, stiff-fronted shirt and bow tie. He was addressed as "James" for the whole evening (his middle name) and boy did we keep him busy! I don't have a single picture of him that night, which saddens me. I know this memory will be one I'll keep with me when he dies. The last time he mentioned it to me, he said it occurred to him the other girls' parents might not surrender them so easily to such an affair in these days of perverts-behind-every-bush. But it was the best of times - and no doubt one of the most fun and inventive parties I've ever had.
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