I’m back at the house after a few fun sleepovers—as soon as I have time to ‘talk’ I will provide more details and (!) a some visual aids as well. In the meantime, I’ve gotten to that nasty part of packing: the bitter end. To wit, I had a fierce craving for a cocktail last night. There was vodka, but no ice or olives. So I worked with what I had. Lemon gatorade, mulled frozen blueberries, and some of that vodka. Don’t think it will become a standard, but it worked in a pinch.
I’ve had excellent company while I box up the last of my crap-I-mean-treasures, and I’m not talking about Buddy. Peter is home from PEA for Thanksgiving and he’s been hanging with me for the first half of break. Loads of laundry, a haircut, and new winter boots have all been crossed off our list.
This afternoon Peter will join David in Mattapoisett for the holiday and I will head on down to Melinda and Kihan’s for a few days. But not before Peter and I go out for a birthday breakfast and then on to see this flick:
Did I say birthday? I did. Fifty four years old. Me. Never thought it would happen. But it has, and I’m here to tell you that getting old is not something to bemoan. It’s not a problem, it’s the solution to a problem. Rather than objecting to the notion of aging, I can tell you it is my objective. I want to be an old lady. And I’m well on my way!