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...)