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the birthdays really do get better and better each year
I had modest expectations for my birthday last Wednesday, but it ended up being a terrific day: the White Sox trounced the Indians, Roger Federer squeaked out a win on smurf clay, Barack Obama leapt off the marriage equality tightrope (I was among those who didn't think it would happen until November), the BYM and I dressed up for a late dinner at The Southern (I can't manage steak yet, so I contented myself with gumbo, butternut squash, and bourbon-soaked bread pudding), the sun was shining, and I had time for a walk.
And there were gifts and messages -- I was especially tickled by a friend's note about her son's newly revealed enthusiasm for writing poetry: "I think partly it's because, while most of his classmates think poets are boring dead guys, [he] thinks they're people with interesting houses and big dogs. And CAKE!" Hee!
(I wasn't in the mood to bake or buy a cake for myself, so I improvised a spicy chocolate blancmange instead. In fact, there are a few mouthfuls left in the pot in the fridge -- they ought to go well with this cup of tea I just brewed...)
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P.S. I dreamed last night that you, me, and lomedet were all dorm-mates, and that we were having a long discussion about interlibrary loans and Buckminster's Fuller second wife [WTF, brain? he had just the one...]. I suspect my subconscious was inspired by the news that my hiking partner's son will be attending your undergraduate alma mater. :-)
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I like that dress - bet you didn't knit it yourself!
*sends ear-scritches to dog*
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Of course not -- I haven't knit anything since I was five, and I haven't crocheted anything other than granny squares since the mid-2000s. ;-) There was a boutique here in town with a rack of togs discounted 75%... *predatory smile*
*doggie thumps tail appreciatively*