The festival celebrating the 74th anniversary of the day of my birth has finally come to an end. It didn't end with a bang, but it didn't end with a whimper either. It just...ended.
Friday, the day itself, we had a show to review, so the day was pretty much a non-event. Lizzie Borden didn't even wish me a happy birthday.
Saturday Walt took me out to dinner. We went to a lovely Italian restaurant (Paesanos) here in town. It hasn't been here long. I went there for dinner with a friend a couple of years ago, but Walt had never been there. Our dinner was delicious, starting with bread with a dipping sauce that was heavy on the balsamic, which was delicious.
For dinner I had a chicken dish that I had not heard of before (and can't remember the name), but it was chicken with pasta and a balsamic sauce. Since I rarely use them, I always forget how tasty pine nuts are.
I even had a rare glass of wine with dinner and found out why it is that I don't drink any more. One glass of wine and it wiped me out. I went to sleep almost immediately after we returned home. I don't like that.
On Sunday we met Ned at Atria. He brought me a gorgeous bouquet of yellow roses.
My mother was confused about why we were there, but did wish me a happy birthday. Ned regaled us with tales of his recent trip to Japan and then when we were discussing the current administration, Ned tried to explain Trump to her.
For her part, she seemed fixated on Ned's new haircut and must have told him every few minutes what a nice haircut he had. At lunch, we wuld talk about something and her eyes went to Ned's head and she interrupted to tell him what a nice haircut he had and then be indignant if he didn't acknowledge her right away.
But lunch was good and I got my usual Ned-Grandma photo, which I seem to take whenever we get together for lunch at Atria.
And then it was all over, and I felt all warm and fuzzy for the time spent at lunch. Really, the very best part about being 74 is having such a wonderful family.