Sunday

Aug 12, 2001

actual birthday

So you keep celebrating, of course. Last night's food and wine weighed in early in the day. FFP's Mom called about the day's actual birthday festivities. We weren't exactly still asleep. I was dreaming of a pastry shop that had run out of small boxes so things like a half dozen doughnuts were in a yard long box. And there were people, gangsters it seemed, in this elaborate cars that were kind of like 1950's ones, only more so. And George Bush was there. I was telling him that ads he'd run influenced me.

"The ones where I had patches on my jeans?" he asked.
"No, you had on a suit. I think your mother vouched for you." I answered.

I don't normally dream about George Bush. Or gangsters for that matter. Dinosaur-like critters are much more common. Blame the good wine and food?

After I manage to get up, I bustle around doing who knows what. A couple of thank you notes. A bit of the paper. Before long it's time to eat and drink again in celebration of my birthday.

Mom's house smelled of home-cooked food. She had lamb roast, potatoes, spinach casserole, home-made rolls, salad, deviled eggs, stuffed celery, green beans. Then we had a strawberry shortbread cake my in-laws had Forrest buy and strawberry ice cream. Dad opened a couple of bottles of wine with it. My birthday-mate Deb and her hubby Sam enjoyed it. But soon we all wanted to go home and nap

Man, it is hot. Ninety-six degrees on Dad's porch in the shade. The seatbelt parts burning as I try to buckle everyone in. Before the AC in the car could cancel the heat, I'm sweating. Yikes.

It's good to get home even though it's almost four and capture a bit of the day, a bit of the dwindling weekend for ourselves. There is a pile of newspapers to be read and we huddle inside, staying cool. I haven't accomplished anything this weekend. Just fielded the congratulations, absorbed the attention and enjoyed the food and drink.

FFP asks what decadent thing I'd like for dinner. I can't think of anything for a while and then I decide on nachos and one of my German beers. The good news is that we don't have to go out and get anything. We have chips, cheese, jalapenos, onions and tomatoes. By seven or so I'm hungry enough to enjoy these and finish my beer over Sex in the City and Six Feet Under. Oh, and we watched part of a movie called The Spanish Prisoner. I read the papers and doze in an uneasy fashion. After those shows, I can't really locate anything to watch.

the cake

"The dinner table is the only place where we are never bored during the first hour."

Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, Physiologie du goüt

JUST TYPING

The speech I made yesterday, typed out as a list of notes...was I find today sort of poetic. Well I thought so. Lists are interesting things. Rick McGinnis, a sometimes journal I read, has made lists of things he loves and hates of late. Sort of interesting. He hates some things I love. Nothing serious. Organ Meats and Opera, he hates. I love 'em. I found it hard to quibble with his loves, though. Maybe I should make such a list.

 

Deb looks better than I because she's younger and thinner. I think you see why I call her baby sister.