Life is just a bowl of cherries

Not really, but a cherry pie doesn't hurt.  A birthday pie, to be exact. We woke yesterday to the sound of rain beating against the windows. My first thought was, there's been some sort of mistake.

Aren't we supposed to be in the Napa Valley now on vacation?  And yet, in the greater scheme of things, our little changes of plans and minor disappointments are so trivial in this big world of suffering. 

Soon I was too busy anyway to feel sorry for myself. It turned out to be a truly memorable day, lovely really, with happy calls, flowers, cards, emails and text messages from family and friends.

And all this:

Amanda mailed a packet of yeast, apparently still available in the Methow Valley. You can't get it for love nor money in Seattle. Oh happy day, I can make more bread.

I strummed a few songs over FaceTime with my friend Chic from The Ukes.

Then I took a nap.

At 4 o'clock, we put an old Eddy Howard CD on and opened a nice bottle of champagne
Thanks, Dave, that was your Christmas present!

And presents to open from John, including a beautiful necklace (will we ever go out again?) He also gave me a book containing the entire New York Times, published on my birthday, way in back in the middle of the last century.  If that doesn't make a person feel old, nothing will.  Ha!

Then I fried a steak.

And instead of the evening news, we watched a Rock Hudson and Doris Day comedy.

We have home, health, family, friends, good food. Nothing else really matters.