I tell John, "In the last nine weeks, we've been in Salvador Brazil, San Juan Puerto Rico, Atlanta, Charleston and DC (twice!). We've had marvelous meals in fine restaurants in all of those places..." Lynn finishes, "...but this meal was the best." So true.
Seven courses with paired wines at Hot n' Hot. A salad of tiny heirloom beets to begin with, and a marvelous tray of artisanal cheeses to end. In between, there was baked cauliflower with bread crumbs & truffle oil, sweetbreads wrapped in bacon (which Lynn didn't care for, so I finished hers), a miraculousy prepared trigger fish, lamb shanks & mushroom risotto and a chocolate sampler. Small portions each, so that it wasn't until we were just finishing the cheese that we felt pleasantly full. Wines from California, France and Spain, exquisitely matched to each dish. A perfect birthday meal.
Today we're playing hooky. We'll have potato pancakes and champagne for brunch, and spend the afternoon in bed watching movies. I can't think of a better way to celebrate my half-century.
My Mom has always said that I was born old. I'm an agnostic on all matters eschatological, but if reincarnation were the way things played out, then I think it's likely that I've been around before. Many times before. Obviously I'm too dumb to get it right. Or maybe I'm just too greedy to give it up. Van Morrison sings, "And when you get it right... you don't have to go back..." Every time I hear him sing the song, one of my inner voices perks up in protest, "But I want to..."
I'm always eager to grow older. The increasing physical creakiness is annoying, but it's worth it for the expanded experiences. Mom sent me a wonderful birthday card. It's a black and white photo of a kid who's probably five or six, with baggy corduroy pants, a striped t-shirt, a Zorro mask, hat & cape, brandishing a plastic sword. On the front it says, "There's only one of you..." and inside, "(That's all the world could handle.)"
Perfect. I may be fifty, but I know that kid is really me. Thanks, Mum.