He turned twenty-nine and, for the second year in a row, I was sick with a mid-winter cold. We stayed in -- for a dinner of fried chicken and a taste of all the pieces of carrot cake I could find earlier that day, ending a years-long search for a suitable carrot cake that isn't made from scratch.
I nursed my cold on Sunday, with clementines and cups of tea and juice, eucalyptus oils diffusing all day long. He made chicken noodle soup, a flashback to his last birthday. The birthday candles weren't mine to wish on, but I hoped for better luck next year - here's to remembering to take extra care in the last week of January.
No comments:
Post a Comment