Carol’s Column

So who needs Rod Stewart and a flashy old diamond?

SO ANNELINE got Rod Stewart and a diamond for her birthday. Lucky Anneline.

Me, I got a sunroof that leaked for mine.

Mind you, I was thrilled to receive it because I thought I wasn’t getting anything.

Having a birthday in December gives me a whole year in which to remind my family about that important day.

Not that I think they’d forget. I know it.

One year I restrained myself and didn’t mention my birthday. Neither did anyone else. Even on the day.

The following year, I sent myself a birthday card. It was the only one I received. And the year after that I sent myself a card and flowers.

My husband, in his usually observant way, asked who had died.

It’s only recently, in the past 10 years or so, that I’ve wised up to things.

“You’ve got to hint a little,” said my good friend Betty. “Leave suitable suggestions lying around. Be subtle.”

So I was subtle.

In 1978 I cut out advertisements for diamond pendants and left them subtly throughout the house. In unobtrusive places. On my husband’s pillow, on the diningroom table stuck to the All Bran cereal that only he eats.

That was the year he bought me a power drill.

In 1979 I received the bit and in 1980, the orbital sander.

OK, so I guess we can’t all be like Mrs Weston whose husband bought her Fortnum and Masons for her birthday. I would have preferred Harrods.

Anyway, what would one do with Fortnum and Masons? You can’t even wear it.

At the knitting club the other morning, as we all clicked our false teeth in time to the needles, Sol’s present to Anneline came under discussion.

Agnes Grooble was specific about what a birthday present should be. “It’s not the present,” she said dogmatically, “it’s the thought that counts.”

Personally, I’d go for the present every time.

She continued: “Look at Liz Taylor and Richard Burton. That ostrich-egg diamond he gave her was utterly vulgar.”

Ah, but a little bit of vulgarity goes a long way. That particular piece, if pawned, could keep the Lazar family in a style to which we could easily become accustomed.

I guess birthday presents are always a problem. A bigger one for some people.

Take poor old King Mongal of Siam — he had 9 000 wives and concubines.

Legend has it that he never ever forgot their birthdays and always presented each of them with a jewel the exact colour of their eyes.

They in return showered him with love and affection. He died at the age of 98, a man totally replete.

Somewhere there’s a message.

Even famous King Solomon of biblical times was reputed to have 700 wives which was the reason for his entrepreneurial mining activities.

But his prospecting paid off. To the Queen of Sheba he sent camels bearing gifts of gold and many precious jewels.

To get back to the sunroof.

Each family evolves its own quaint little customs. So why should we be different?

Last birthday — at 6am — it was a school day you understand, I was woken by the merry singing of ‘Happy Birthday to You’.

As is customary in our family, I cast aside my usual early-morning snarl and tried to open my eyes. Then smiled and feigned surprise.

“Oh,” I squeaked (it takes about an hour for my voice box to start functioning in the morning), “what a surprise, I’d forgotten it was my birthday.”

I kept my fingers and toes crossed under the bedclothes in case the wicked witch came and turned me into a frog.

Each child was bearing a beautifully wrapped gift.

From Barry I received an acorn. “Happy birthday, Ma,” he said, “it’s a do-it-yourself oak tree.”

From Ralph I received a voucher for five free boardsailing lessons. At the bottom of the voucher in small print it said: ‘The teacher in your area is Ralph Lazar. Phone the following number to book your lessons.’ It looked familiar.

Jamie had thoughtfully painted an abstract portrait of himself lest I forget what he looked like and Nicky had made an exquisite necklace of dried mealie pods.

I made the appropriate noises of ecstasy, joy and excitement and then, traditionally, they sang yet again ‘Happy Birthday to You’.

You know you’ve made it as a mother when you’re serenaded at 6am in the morning by your family of five, three dogs, a cat and a goldfish.

Which left my husband’s gift.

Wide awake and buzzing with expectation I was hauled downstairs by the kids. They opened the front door and pulled me to the car port saying: “Keep your eyes shut, Ma!”

Visions of Lamborghinis, Porsches and Ferraris passed before my eyes.

Then: “Open your eyes,” they shouted.

There stood my battered, red chariot.

I blinked. “Good heavens, someone’s made a hole in the roof,” I said in horror.

“A sunroof” my husband exclaimed with pride. “Especially for you.”

“All my life I have wanted a sunroof,” I replied. My mother brought me up well.

I have to admit this is a special sunroof.

In seven months of ownership I have managed to open it once.

And that was with a crowbar. I left it open to air the car, besides, it was impossible to close.

That was the afternoon there was a torrential downpour and I drove home with water swirling around my ankles.

Made of the finest black perspex, the sun beats relentlessly through it turning my car into the only sauna on wheels in Johannesburg.

It has another interesting feature.

Whenever it rains, drops fall on my head.

Which makes me the only travelling mother who drives everywhere in the rain under an umbrella in the car.

It is kind of different.

So who needs Rod Stewart and a diamond for a birthday present?

Me.

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