golden girl

Because I never grew up and quite frankly cannot think of a compelling reason why I should, I still believe that my birthday is just cause for week long celebrations with friends and family.

The fact that people actually humor me in this conceit is the source of much joy on my part. How can I possibly waste a moment feeling sorry for my sad, dearly departed, gravity-afflicted 4o-something ass when I have such generous, amiable and tolerant people in my life?

I heard from a couple of mates whom I've know since high school who somehow still manage to remember the date and think of me kindly, even as they accuse me of being somehow much older than they.

There were a couple of off-key renditions of 'Happy Birthday' left on my machine, including an amazing duet that made me laugh till I cried. My 93 year old mother sang to me in a husky-throated whisper and a lately acquired lisp, making me smile while quite nearly breaking my heart. My brother and sis-in-law sent me a gift that they promise will leave me hysterical. I'm laughing already. I hope it's jewelry.

And on Saturday last, my pals Trish and Robbie took me out to LACMA to see what I'd been yammering on about for weeks ~ the 5 Klimts, looted by the Nazis and just returned to their rightful heirs after decades of legal wrangling with Austria. There was the sumptuously beautiful portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I, the spectacularly golden star of the show ~ an exuberant celebration of female beauty, of a lover arrayed in luxurious, Byzantine-patterned glory. Oil, silver and gold on canvas, it is a wondrous thing to behold.

Quieter, but equally sensuous to my way of thinking is Klimt's rendering of the Beech Woods. In it, subtle gradations of color float dreamily atop the canvas. Deep purples and pale lavenders, soft grays, greens and mauves are played against the richness of dark reds and ochre. The effect is evocative of moving alone through a deep wood at dusk, redolent of fallen leaves and moss, unturned earth and moist evening air. It is a painting at once mysterious and serene. You could drink it in for hours.

Yesterday, as I was drinking in the reality that could just be crows feet (but I'm going for laugh lines) in the reflection of my bathroom mirror, I heard on NPR that the portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer had been sold to Estee' Lauder heir/corporate guy genius/art lover Ron Lauder for a breathtaking, record setting, heart arresting sum. It is now the most expensive painting in the world.

Price of an original portrait by Gustav Klimt: $135 million

Value of an afternoon spent with friends: Priceless.