Editor’s note: The IJ is reprinting some of the late Beth Ashley’s columns. This is from 2017.

So how does one celebrate a birthday in marvelous Marin?

Oh, what a time we had.

We drove to West Marin, through the redwoods and emphatic green hills, not positive of our destination, but eager to see Tomales Bay or the ocean.

We ended up in Inverness at a waterside restaurant called Fog, where we could look across Tomales Bay at the smattering of buildings that is Marshall.

How blessed we Marinites are, having so many great vistas, so many great places to go.

We ordered oysters, of course — they were cold and fresh and tasted of saltwater and the sea. Who needs more than that? (Well, Rowland ordered us a crab salad, too. Oh my, such riches.)

Near us on the deck was a father and two pouting children and he wasn’t happy. Hooray for us — things like that don’t exist in our lives. They never did.

We sipped tiny glasses of champagne — isn’t that de rigueur on a birthday?

I didn’t need one more birthday flourish. I was already feeling ridiculously happy just sitting in the sun, enjoying the view, appreciating my husband’s company, which never grows old.

The drive had compounded the treat.

After lunch and a quick stop-off in Greenbrae, we drove to my son Guy’s house in Berkeley, where great-nephew Christian, Carolina and their baby Alejandra were an added attraction. My daughter-in-law Danielle dandled the baby for more than an hour; you’d think she has never had kids of her own. But I understood. I miss having a baby to dandle, too (though God forbid I am suddenly given one).

Guy had made ribs, Danielle a glorious strawberry dessert, and everybody sang happy birthday.

Christian and Carolina had even bought a gift, which was certainly not necessary. At my age I already have everything I could possibly want.

My real birthday gift, of course, was their company. I adore Guy’s children, Oscar and Ella — so interested in the world, so accomplished. Oscar is suddenly as tall as his father.

The two kids are most kind to me. Oscar lets me lean on him to get from one chair to another.

How lucky can I be?

Of course I wish I were stronger, less wobbly, but hey — I’m lucky to be here at all. Requirements for happiness change as you get older.

I need little more these days than a chair where I can see my loved ones or can pat a nearby hand.

I realize this all sounds kind of soupy, but at my age soupiness feels just fine.

Wait till you’re in your 90s. You will celebrate, too.