There was a birthday here today. The first time I spent a birthday with the person in question was 26 years ago. Against all the odds I’ve been invited back again and again.
This morning, we got up at 5:15 after a night trying to calm a fireworks-rattled to get ready for our annual First Sunday of the Tour de France race-watching extravaganza. The first neighbors showed up at 6 or so. Afterward, we pieced together the rest of the day.
We had visitors: One son and his wife drove up from their place in far-away San Jose, and then we went hiking on Ring Mountain in Marin County. Clear day, with views into every distance.
Then we came home and cooked dinner and the other son and his, you know, very good friend, joined us. All six of us had a repast of buffalo stew (there’s a first time for everything) and salad and an excellent cake from the local French-like cake maker.
Then everyone went on their way, and we were left alone with the dog. What a great day, from first sleepy moment to the last, also a little sleepy. We’ll have to try the whole thing again next year.