Today is my birthday. I don’t think I’ve mentioned my birthday on here before. Maybe in passing, but that’s it. I’ve just never been a big birthday person. Don’t get me wrong…
I just don’t like the fuss. If I dress like a whang-doodle and you want to comment on my dress/shoes/hair, fine. Because they’re awesome. Having something big done for me, like a party? I’d rather drink hot lead. Which is why I had a courthouse wedding. And no wedding shower. And no big reception, just a cookout. And if I ever have children the person who dares throw me a baby shower will get asphyxiated with a onesie.
It’s just another day.
I woke up this morning and took a shower. Did laundry.
I managed to get the fresh egg out of the chicken coop without the chicken escaping. I wandered over to the flowerbed. The bleeding hearts are in bloom.
And so are the wild violets.
And the potentilla.
I’m making the Queen of Sheba cake from ‘Mastering the Art of French Cooking.’ Because of course I am.
For breakfast there was cornbread with a glob of raw honey on top.
All in all, I can’t complain. Here’s an article from the Southern Illinois Record, 1914.
Well, my memory stinks. I’m afraid of everything I shouldn’t be afraid of and the things that should scare the crap out of me don’t. I am not sympathetic and I don’t mix well. I married someone born in July. Oops. But heck yes to the emeralds and moss agate thing. I look damn good in black. And I do have a capacity for leadership because I have the truth and everyone else just has an opinion. Just ask me.
I’m going to go make my cake and watch the hummingbirds on the feeder. I hope you all have a fine day, as mine will be. IT BETTER BE, anyway. (I just couldn’t leave without a threat, I guess.)
See you later!