When I moved to Missouri, one of the things I loved were the old plantation house looking places. You see, I'm this huge nerd for Gone With the Wind (the book - I've never seen the whole movie because my devotion to the book is that slavish) and they made me think of how I pictured her plantation and those around it.
There's one architectural feature that I especially love about those homes, and it is the columns on the porches. I love those. I know not a damn thing about architecture, but those columns always seemed full of such beauty and strength and grace. It felt like, they, singlehandedly, held up that entire damn house. The elements don't bother those columns at all. They thumb their nose at the wind and rain and baking down sun. "I got this," they say. "You can't make me fall. I'm holding up a motherfucking house here." And they continue on in their quiet strength, making the world a more structurally sound place.
A few years ago, I worked for a publishing company. There I met this chick. And I was, in typical fashion, a smart ass. She tossed back an equally sarcastic remark to me like it was nothing. And I've adored her ever since.
You, my dear friend, are a column on a plantation house. You are gorgeous and amazing and you bear burdens that would cripple most people and you do it like it's nothing. You are brilliant and hilarious and you are always putting other people first. You humble everyone around you with your awesomeness. Never underestimate your impact on the world. You make it a better place for everyone who knows you.
And on this day, your birthday, you deserve hearts and flowers and sunshine and roses. Or maybe horses and motorcycles. Whatever is your fancy.
I hope it is grand. Happy birthday, Atina.