I have always been happy that my birthday falls in the spring. Once I became old enough to stop wishing for dolls and other toys, and then new clothes and new boyfriends, I began to be more practical and hope for something I might really get.

Somewhere, around middle age (or early old age), I put all my wishes into one thing: a sunny day so I could sit on the deck in a comfortable chair and read a book, with no thoughts of what I should be doing (washing the clothes, cleaning the kitchen floor, sorting out my summer clothes in preparation for even warmer weather to come).

I wanted a day for myself to do nothing I should be doing. A day to celebrate being alive. The day of my birth, April 27, seemed far enough along in spring to make that a reasonable request.

But someone didn’t believe that April was a fine example of spring, and my memory, which isn’t always dependable, seems to corroborate that most of the April 27ths that I remember were rainy, or at least cloudy and dreary. I have just about given up that birthday wish, and this year didn’t disappoint as it was very dreary and rained on and off all day.

My birthday had already been postponed and moved up earlier in the month, so the weather wasn’t a big concern this year. My caregiver daughter Deborah and her daughter Katie (aka Siren) had planned a trip to Greece, leaving on April 29, and organizing a big party so close to that time was too difficult. My annual Black Dog birthday dinner with Pat and David (who was born on my 18th birthday) was also postponed as they were going abroad on April 26. So I was prepared for a quiet day with no celebrations.

However, Deborah and I had been invited to a “meet and greet” gathering at Richard’s house at 5:30 p.m. on that day to meet Julian Cyr, Democratic candidate for the Massachusetts senate. I have always enjoyed Richard’s political get-togethers. I know most of the people who attend, there is a comfortable couch to sit on, and wine and finger food is always available. With no birthday parties to attend, I would get out of the house and be among friends and neighbors on my special day.

I enjoyed the gathering (like a party as many wished me a happy birthday, thanks to an automatic announcement on Facebook). Friends joined me on the couch, the food was delicious and even the water was good — water is my preferred drink now as I am already unsteady on my feet, and wine might make me tip over. I don’t want people to think I am drunk at 92.

Guests wandered and chatted for an hour and then Julian spoke to us and I was very impressed. Finally, just before we gathered our raincoats to go back out into this miserable, but typical April evening, Richard pointed out that it was my 92nd birthday, and the entire crowd sang Happy Birthday to me.

It was heartwarming and certainly made up for the week of no birthday parties.

Shirley Mayhew lives in West Tisbury.