Celebrating Sixty in Style

Celebrating Sixty in Style

Turning forty wasn't so bad.  Neither was fifty.  But no question, when you turn sixty there is more behind you than in front.  Nevertheless, our culture dictates that we celebrate this milestone as if we have accomplished something more than mere survival. 

Starting when I reached 59-1/2, my husband, Dov, (who has reached and celebrated seventy) began to ask, "So, what do you want to do for your sixtieth?  Shall we have a party?  Take a trip to Europe or go somewhere more exotic?  Do you want a big present?  An expensive present? What is it you really want to do to ring in your 7th decade?"

I come from a family that was small to begin with, but has shrunk even more with the passing years.  I had only one child, Jason, by my first husband and none with Dov, my partner in my second and much longer lasting marriage.  But I have been lucky to have acquired family via my husband's former marriage.  Karen and Gili are my step-children, an unfortunate term that always makes me think of Cinderella's abusive relatives.  I wish there was another word that describes how much they mean to me, but still acknowledges that they have a "real mother" who loves them as well.  At any rate, all three kids--mine and his-- are now grown and two of them have kids of their own...that's right, I am a grandma.  For me there was only one choice to celebrate sixty.  It had to be a family event with all of the generations helping me blow out those sixty blazing Bday candles. 

Jason set the parameters for the event.  He was not going to cross more than two time zones or spend more than 5 hours in the plane with baby Kate Rose, his one-year old.  If I wanted to go far a field, so be it.  He would fly to California to visit me and wish me "Happy Birthday," but he would not party with me in Patagonia.

There was really only one sane choice since my birthday is in early March. Go South to the Sun.  So, Dov and I started searching the internet for villas in Mexico.  In addition to our kids and their kids, my brother and sister-in-law (Laurie and Avi). their two grown sons (Ben and Tal), and my son's in-laws (Jennifer and Barry) were going to join us for the birthday week-long celebration.  That added up to thirteen adults and two babies.  It didn't take us long to learn that villas in Mexico, by and large, accommodate four to six people.  Our choices were limited: a large house on a hill in Baja or a villa near Ixtapa that claimed to have beds for eighteen.  The villa near Ixtapa was right on the beach and had a thatched palapa (outdoor living space) that looked inviting in the internet thumbnail photos.  The villa had also had a name, Casa Bina , and a price tag with lots of zeros.

The family agreed to chip in and share the costs.  Jennifer and Barry, my son's in-laws and foodies extraordinaire, would plan and prepare the birthday feast.  We sent in a down payment and waited for March to arrive.

The villa's manager, Joaquin, met us at the Zihuatenejo/Ixtapa airport and, after we rented three cars in various states of disrepair, he led us north to the small town of Buena Vista. We passed the usual jumble of run down highway towns offering cheap hotel rooms and what is probably poisonous fare.  "Jeez," I thought, "I hope Casa Bina doesn't look like that."

After about forty minutes, Joaquin turned onto a dirt road that we followed for several miles as it wound its way through the desert scrub to a paved driveway that turned out to be the entrance to Casa Bina. Voila y wunderbar!   It was magnificent ... a large, sand-colored, two-story building with graceful arches that formed a covered walkway to the bedrooms appeared on the left. On the right was the palapa we had seen in the pictures.  My son, his wife Amy, baby Kate, and the in-laws were already there.  They greeted us with big smiles telling us the place was just fantastic.  "Wait until you see your room. You are going to love it." The room for the birthday girl was on the second floor with windows on both sides. The roar of the Pacific and the scent of salt water filled my senses with delight. Sixty, ok, but this sixty comes with a room with a view.

Barry was in charge of the drinks.  Margaritas, of course, but made from scratch...no mix or cheap tequila for Barry.  Jennifer whipped up her first gourmet dinner of the week -- salsa, chips, frijoles, tortillas, and fish. We ate, drank, ate, drank, laughed, played with babies, told stories, played cards, laughed, drank and ate. And that was only day one of seven.

It didn't take us long to fall into Casa Bina's rhythm: get up, put on the swim suit and SPF 50 sunscreen.  Go to the palapa for eggs, home made tortillas, beans and salsa. Move 30 feet to the swimming pool. Play with granddaughters, Rebecca and Kate Rose.  Follow the handmade tile pathway to the beach...six miles of pristine beach with no one, that's right, no one except us on it.  Build sand castles and bury grandpa in the sand. Lunch. More pool time. More beach. Nap in the hammock on our private porch off the room with a view. Shower. Back to the palapa for Barry's margaritas and Jennifer's dinner.  Then, grab the cameras and capture the Casa Bina Technicolor sunset.  Pura vida, pura vida indeed.

The only break in the rhythm was for the big day itself.  March 8. We all dressed up. Lot's of Tommy Bahama-wear. Balloons were hung on the ceiling fans. Everyone was taking digital snapshots of everyone else. And, the feast...what a feast! Jennifer and Barry surprised us with fresh lobster grilled to perfection. Hmmm. Sixty, yes, but sixty with a room with a view and all the lobster I can eat.  Simply amazing.

The granddaughters, sweet as they are, were ravaged by mosquitoes, but they didn't seem to mind as long as they could go in the pool and play with their beach toys.  The adults got a bit too much sun and had their share of beach trauma.  Gili took me sea kayaking and as we yakked about "A Million Little Pieces," a rogue wave grabbed us and threw us to the bottom of the ocean.  I came up under the kayak and swallowed some salt water trying to get my head above water.  Gili was worried about how he was going to tell Dov and Jason he had accidentally killed me.  Jason went boogie boarding and got thrown forehead first into a sandbar.  One goose-egg, a sore neck, and a cracked molar were the price he had to pay for having fun.

The last day came too soon and was poignant.  People left in waves. One nephew, Tal, caught a cab to the airport at 8 am. Jennifer and Barry took Gili with them for a midday flight. Jason, Amy and Kate Rose left at two.  The rest of us left at four.

I took one last tour of the Casa Bina grounds. There was a lonely faded-red plastic toy shovel floating in the pool waiting for the next toddler to find it. The grand dining table in the palapa had been cleaned and its chairs neatly aligned one after the other, like soldiers guarding the fort.  Our beautiful room with a view was made up and ready for the next visitors. All of the guest rooms were quiet, empty, and sad.  We piled the luggage into the car and slowly drove away from the site of my sixtieth.  Adios, Casa Bina, muchisimas gracias for a perfect birthday.