Big Birthday Bash

by Sarah Frankel
 

It was that dreaded moment when the family hinted that my next big birthday was coming up. “How would you like to celebrate?” they asked. I grimace, I groan, but the family were determined to celebrate. “Well, surprise me!” I stated and stalked off.

There was so much inactivity about my forthcoming big day, that I almost forgot about it, but every time I walked into the room when the family were assembled, there was a sudden hush, embarrassed laughter and a swift change of subject. I knew they were scheming; something was in the works.

Four days before my birthday, my hubby cleared his throat and announced that he had been on the internet and had booked a last-minute holiday for us. I was dumb struck, because he couldn’t even find the switch from off to on, let alone surf the net. I started quizzing him but he only kept repeating, “Better pack a suitcase, summer weather and don’t forget your swimsuit”.

I wanted to know where, I wanted to know when, but the only information that was forthcoming was “We’ll be away for a week. And don’t forget your passport”.

 

It could have been worse. I mean it could have a meal at the local, which would announce my new age to the entire village. Or a posh restaurant, which would give me indigestion all night or perhaps the theatre to see a play I would loath. A holiday might be nice after all.

I arrived at the airport and blow me down, my son was there with wife and kids, waving and smiling. “We’re coming too!” they announced.

“And so are we,” chuckled my daughter and her family from behind. Wow. That certainly was a surprise and I immediately fell into holiday mood. It had been years since the entire family had holidayed together, in fact not since the kids were, well, kids.

 

We landed in Florence, and an hour later we were driving up a narrow road, fields of sunflowers and wheat-baking in the heat. Into view came this, well, castle, but without the turrets and walls. It was a large, grand house. “Villa,” they screeched and started running around to explore, shouting, “It’s ours for the whole week”. I smiled at my husband and laughed. “It might not have been your fingers on the keyboard, but this is a wonderful idea.”

For some reason I wanted to explore outside first. The grounds were enormous by the standards of my back garden. Olive trees, green meadows and a beautiful pool surrounded by a manicured lawn. So much space. I went indoors through the French windows. Rooms, rooms and more rooms; on all floors, each tastefully furnished. It looked as though some aristocratic family had just left for the week and lent us their home. Maybe Hello or OK magazine would be popping in tomorrow to photograph it. Anything was possible after a surprise like this.

The next two days were delightful. While the men went to Sienna, a 30 minutes drive, I decided to lounge around at the pool with the girls. The next day, my birthday, we all went to Cortona, home to Frances Mayes, the author of Under the Tuscan Sun. When I returned, the villa was a hive of activity and I was huddled off to my room with instructions to dress and come down at seven.

When I came down, my husband led me to the gazebo. Everyone was waiting, and we had drinks, happy birthday was sung and we went in to dinner. A local chef had been provided to make a special dinner, using local produce. Everything was delicious and made especially for me. The view was splendid, the table beautiful and meal perfect.

 

The next few days the youngsters toured, but I just relaxed and enjoyed the serene atmosphere and beauty of the place. My hubby, who researches everything, told me that the villa was built in the 16th century for the Ristori family, aristocrats from Florence. Since then a great deal had been invested in the house; heart and soul as well as money. Everything was so beautiful.

“You must have taken a second mortgage to pay for this holiday,” I told him appreciatively. “No,” he laughed, “you’re not worth it!” Couldn’t really drown him in the jacuzzi but I splashed as hard as I could.

www.connoisseur-tuscany.com

 

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