A perfect end to the birthday weekend. Bloglesss Marsha, D, C and I considered going to one of those bars where, for a flat rate, you get all the supplies necessary to paint a picture with added inspiration provided by good wine and food. Wait! said C. We have wine, we have food, we have painting supplies, why pay $55 each to paint a picture? And we don't have to worry about driving home. Birthday flowers provided the subject matter and three inexperienced acrylic painters went to work. What fun:
We each had our own style:
It was the best birthday ever, summed up so eloquently by the gypsy swing violinist. Yes a gypsy swing violinist, friend of the boy's, the talented Michael Fraser, who played just for me and said " I want to have a birthday party just like this when I'm midddle-aged."
A not so in focus Michael and Bryant jamming - it was hard to shoot an ever-moving target:
It never felt so go to be middle-aged, as well into it that I am. Thank you C and B, and all my friends who helped celebrate.
Immediately after my father died when I was 16, I remember thinking about things that I wanted to tell him, things that made no sense at all. For example, wanting to share with him details of his funeral that he would have liked. Cold, hard reality snapped in and my teenage mind realized that of course, that wasn't going to happen.
Many years later, the death of my mother, I know she's gone, but there are life experiences that I'd love to share with her. Not as personally significant as the birth her first great-grandchild, but everyday things. For example, I just finished the autobiography of American Supreme Court Justice, Sonia Sotomayor. My mom would have loved that book.They shared the same background as a child of very new Puerto Rican immigrants, my mother born just months after my grandparents emigrated, and both grew up in the Bronx. They also lived similar values of perseverance and doing the right thing.
In recent days we would have talked together about her being glued to the TV with the Papal goings on. Or I would have shared the fact that this week, great Dane that he is, my husband is cooking a Puerto Rican meal for 18 for my birthday!
I don't know the point of this post, I guess it's just a slice of life.
Back in my midwest days, long before I lived in a rain forest, I learned the self-explanatory expression "You can't win for losing." It makes sense except for this: sweet Audioknits sent me a prize for losing her blog contest:
There's some yummy Jaggerspun Zephyr laceweight, baby yarn and my first taste of Dalegarn Heilo. Thank you, Kristen for a nice treat.
Come to think of it I won for losing with my second pair of glasses, the funky blue ones I mentioned in my last post. These were the frames from the pair of glasses that I returned to Costco in WA. Costco progressive lenses are a good deal if you fit the most common denominator prescription-wise. That is, if you are a typical middle aged nearsighted person. Farsighted me didn't adapt well, so I reluctantly turned them in.
Six weeks later, finding a two-for-one sale at North Vancouver's new Hakim optical, I couldn't find a second pair of frames that met my expectations. Finding glasses, for me, is right down there with bra or swimsuit shopping. I called Costco and they still had my failed pair in their drawer. Add to this, my romantic practical husband who offered, as a Valentine gift, to drive down to Bellingham to pick up those frames for me:
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