Last Sunday was my birthday. The plan was to have a picnic, but given the whiny weather, we had to lock ourselves up inside. There was way too much cake for anyone’s good (Rainbow-Cake courtesy of a panda, marble cake courtesy of a messenger bird, and chocolate cake made by AH). We celebrated with lots of laughter, juice, and maybe a little too much beer, and the sun even came around to say hello. To tell you the truth, I’ve never been a fan of birthday parties; as a kid I wouldn’t get along with other kids terribly well and I liked spending time by myself. I wasn’t a cranky or lonely child, and I did laugh a lot, but I also enjoyed reading books, and if I got the urge to do so at a birthday party, well then, let it be it. Last year was fun but also disastrous (I’ll skip over the details) and so this time around, to turn a quarter of a century old, I had a delightfully childish birthday party. All we were missing, really, were the party hats and the Hello Kitty paper plates. (Yeah, and balloons would have been nice, too.)left to right: a wrapped dahlia with a photograph of me by N, egg cups currently nesting two paper cranes
I’ve come to realise that my friends, apart from being wonderful company on a day that started off unexpectedly rainy, also know me pretty well.left to right: cinnamon rolls and cookies in a jar, beloved instant camera
And so I was given flowers that will bloom soon, old memories, an instant camera, a glass jar for food photography, masses of hugs, things that made me feel like we had become a family (you know, when instead of being given one mug, you are given two..), and masses of wine we never drank and ice-cream we never ate and a bag printed with the pulse of a star though everyone thinks it’s an illustration of mountains..