Friday 13th February.
A date for celebration, rejoicing, and, contrary to ridiculous superstition, a very, very lucky day for our family.
I remember another Friday 13th, a few decades ago - the one when my daughter was born. Not that she was due to arrive that day - she was 10 days early. In fact, as I am sure I have mentioned annually ever since, when I went to see my doctor on 12 February back then, he asked "So, are you ready to have this baby soon?" "Any day except tomorrow." I replied, cheerfully.
So of course I went into labour at midnight.
It was inevitable.
Diana was born 11 hours later.
It was the height of summer in the Southern Hemisphere. It is strange, you know - my sister was born on 1 September. My mother was determined to have a spring baby, not a winter one. Now she has an autumn birthday. My birthday was in winter for 35 years. Now it is in spring/summer. Diana's was in summer, and today, it is in mid winter. Next year, however, she may well be back to partying on the beach.
Hemispheres do that. They change things slightly.
Birthday parties in February in Cape Town revolved around water. Pools. Ice cream. Swimsuits. Shorts. T-shirts. Blue skies. Heat.
This is one of the parts of moving countries which you tend to overlook. Seasons and how they affect the family high days and holidays. All so different.
Anyway, there are memories everywhere. Photos of Care Bear cakes. Videos somewhere of young girls playing that chanting clapping game - the name of which I cannot for the life of me remember - in a circle. Attempts at synchronised diving into the pool all in pink. Shell suits. Guessing games. Caterpillar cakes. Sleepovers. Human pyramids on the lounge floor. Laughter. Fun.
Winter or summer - the celebration of her birth continues. It doesn't matter where she is - here, there, or way over the world. My daughter is a remarkable young woman, who is dearly loved, and always celebrated.
Happy Birthday, Diana! We love you very much.