She tells me that once, I called her an asshole. I think back. Maybe. Don’t be such an asshole! An uncontrolled moment. She can needle me with that memory, sure, but she knows better. I love her more than roses.
It’s the birthday of my younger one – she’s a quarter of a century old and it’s been a long long time since I have had the pleasure of being near enough to at least have a birthday moment with her. She has to make do with a phone call and my blog notes.
And they’re hasty at that. My semester starts today, her intersession is nearing an end – it’s the usual winter mix of stuff that comes down at this time of the year.
But she’s no wintry personality, no ice princess, no, not at all! So much love in that young little girl! (Oh! -- not so young today...)
I miss her.
Happy Birthday, you, with the delicate fabric of art and beauty and intellect. The commonplace things I share with you. The best parts are your own.
In other news:
Yes -- the Spring Semester begins today. The skies are blue, I noted that on my coffee break...
...and on my walk to the bus stop.
For me, it hardly matters. On that first day of a semester, regardless of what's outside, the Law School feels like the richest and most abundant of marketplaces, pulsating with energy. The time of year when no one can possibly feel tired. Yet.
Of course, it is nice to walk home in sunshine. To unzip the jacket and unwrap the scarf because it's just so warm in the sunny spaces. Yes, in Madison, in January. Twenty-five years ago on this day, when my daughter was born, the winds kicked in a blast of sub-zero weather.
Not today. No, not at all.