26 July 2003

Wheee! It's my birthday! Go do something fun and tell me about it!

Ooh, ooh! You people know me well. I've gotten two puppy pictures via e-mail for my birthday! What great birthday presents! I am such a sucker for dogs. That's the kind of thing I can get behind as a birthday present: free pictures o' puppies. Woo! (And maybe next year there will be an actual puppy. Hope springs etc.)

I've already opened one present from Timprov, so that I could listen to it before Mark got up: a Crash Test Dummies album. Great timing! (Mark can't stand the voice of the lead singer of the Crash Test Dummies. Gives him the willies.) I also had one of my scones, which turned out well. The pots de crême...err...well. The blender was not working again (we'll have to try to fix that), and I don't think the food processor was an adequate substitute as far as the pots de crême were concerned. They haven't entirely set up yet. It's been 19 hours. They're closer than they were, but...I think not close enough. It's all right. They sell ice cream in stores, and that will do.

(This is my grandfather's theory of travel: "they have stores there" or "they sell that in stores." It's a balance to the pre-travel organization energy of my grandmother, I think.)

There is another screaming child car wash outside. But I don't care. It's my birthday. One of the girls is composing a series of impromptu car wash songs, which I can appreciate even as it annoys me a little.

In her puppy picture e-card, Erica wished me a happy last birthday living in California. Yep! I hadn't really thought in those terms, but they're good terms. It's funny that I hadn't, because I sometimes have been thinking things like, "Well, that's the last package of multivitamins I'll buy living here" or "That's the last California jam purchase." Silly little stuff.

One of the things that baffles me about myself in retrospect -- and there are few of those -- is that I used to like foods without regard to whether they were in season. I used to Like Plums, say, and it didn't matter if they were the bitter early-season plums or the peak of the season or the squashy very last ones in the bin: I Liked Plums, and would rather have them than anything else. Then I'd go to the next fruit on my list, in all states and forms, and so on down. Why did I do that? I really don't remember how bitter hard new blueberries could have outranked perfect, peak cherries or why a plum that fell apart in my hands was better than a peach with firm, fuzzy skin. I ate an apple with peanut butter every day of most of my grade school, whether they were crisp, tart, seasonal apples or mealy off-season apples. Because I Liked Apples. Now when I go home for a visit, my mom asks what fruit I want, and I feel like I'm being difficult, because the answer is, "Whatever looks good." But I really will enjoy whatever fruit is fresh and at its peak (as long as it isn't pineapple!) more than a supposed favorite that's more expensive and out of season. And while I get cravings out of season, I know that it's not really the same stuff.

Still, I'm glad I have a summer birthday, with more variety of fruit than some seasons have. And tomatoes. Birthday tomatoes. Num.

Plans for the day: opening cards and presents, watching "Shanghai Knights," then getting cleaned up and having some lunch. I think we'll maybe head down to San Jose to the Rosicrucian Park to see their Egyptian stuff -- sounds interesting, at the very least, and it's something we haven't done. If that doesn't take any time at all, we can stop through the festival down in Fremont on our way back. Then we'll wake the Timprov and head out for dinner, which will have noodles in it in some form, have dessert, and come home to revel in my birthday bits.

I am in a determinedly good mood, and I expect very little of myself for the day. I think this will be a good combination. Also, there are people who love me and people who like me, and I tend to love and like them as well, and I think that means a pretty happy birthday. There's no time like the present for finding out.