I truly believe I will have to spend two weeks in a sanitarium to recover from all the excitement and business of my 72nd birthday weekend.

I have been wined and dined. I have been presented with presents. I have been carded and lettered. Everyone has been wonderful and I appreciate every kind gesture that has been issued for me on my birthday.

Interestingly enough, I was born on Friday, Oct. 13, 1934 and in 2006 it came out again on Friday, Oct. 13. If I was superstitious (which I am), I would say it was an unlucky event, but how can the day of your birth be unlucky?

First of all let me thank the Rolodex of my insurance carrier and my favorite stockbroker for their remembrance of my birthday. They are not family, but they responded.

I have a group of three dental school couples that meets on all six of our birthdays for a lovely sit-down dinner at a restaurant in Nassau County. It is a very nice custom and we all look forward to getting together and "schmoozing" about old times and new times. Between us we have 21 grandchildren so there is never a pause in the conversation. We met at Bruzell's in Great Neck and the food and company were delicious. Many wonderful presents were showered on me.

The next day, Saturday, Lorraine and I took the Long Island Rail Road into Manhattan to meet a lifelong friend from the Bronx. The restaurant was Portofino's on First Avenue between 63rd and 64th Streets. Upon arrival at Penn Station (34th Street and 7th Avenue) we decided to walk to the restaurant. It would be a wonderful 40 block walking tour of the Big Apple. Lorraine was wearing high heels but she made it without too much complaining. Because the weather was cold Lorraine wanted to buy me a scarf. I said, "No."

I had a delicious roast duck and my friend Bernie and his wife, Harriet were fun company. They handed me a birthday package and what was in it? A beautiful cashmere scarf made in Scotland. It was so soft. What a coincidence.

We skipped dessert and proceeded to my son and daughter-in-law's apartment for dessert. Gregg and Jennifer had purchased a luscious whipped cream cake from William Greenberg's (no relative) bakeshop. He is a "baker to the stars." Too bad my grandchild was sleeping but we peeked in on him anyway.

Today (Sunday, Oct. 15) we are traveling to Westchester for the final meal on this extended celebration.

Growing up in the Bronx nobody acknowledged one's birthday. Now it is almost a national holiday. I am tired and a bit worn out but I am very happy.