Today, Ann and I finished reading our book aloud, and then she took me to lunch for my birthday, which is later this week. Neither one of us could speak English to the waitress. I'm not kidding. We had to restate our order about seven times and I was beginning to think this woman was really stupid. It turned out we were the stupid ones who couldn't read the menu.
I really enjoy these moments with Ann.
Some years, I make it clear to everyone that I want to know it's my birthday. I want a celebration and presents and hand-made cards and fireworks.
This is not one of those years. This year I want it low key. As in whisper the birthday song to me. Softer, softer. I can still hear you! No hoopla. No video to show how cute I've been all my life.
It has nothing to do with my age--at least, I don't think it does--I'm turning 73. So far, so good.
This is the birthday I want this year: a fine chocolate cake with really thick butter frosting and a glass of milk. Let me beat you at arm wrestling. That would be good.
Kiddies can blow out the candles.