The day is sparkling. Cool breeze and bright blue skies. About five ravens flew over the house, and when they turned with the wind, the sun reflected like a mirror off their backs, their dark glossy feathers turning brilliant white. Chipmunks wandering about in and over the woodpile, and I wonder how long before they shall call it a year. It is marvelous and while hammering has just now started interrupting the peace, I don’t mind, as I have a drive to make down the hill to go to a party.
It’s a party for me, at a nice Brazilian restaurant where waiters walk around with skewered meat for the taking, and an open buffet provides other South American choices. It’s always Carnival at the restaurant making for a delightful place of celebration.
So, that’s my evening. I turned thirty this week, so even one trying to pursue a evangelical monastic lifestyle (which I still need to get around to explaining), deserves a bit of a feast. Last weekend I celebrated me, this weekend I let others, then back to discovering a rhyme and reason.
In nonrelated news, I was pulling out a coat to see if it would fit what I was wearing this evening. It’s a cashmere overcoat I got back when I was regularly dealing with cold weather. I wear it now only about once or twice a year. In the front pocket there was a bulge, I put my hand in the pocket and found a yellow rubber ducky. I have no idea what event at which I last wore the coat, but it must have been quite the evening.