A candle for each year in six very good decades, and one for good luck. We celebrated Frank’s 60th at No. 1951 with maple-smoked salmon and nearest of kin.
It’s been nearly a month–my blogging was derailed by a series of things that somehow seemed more important than chronicling meals. Luckily I snapped pictures. Looks like we also had potatoes, and an irresistible colander.
We celebrated al fresco, the garden all but brushing our cheeks. There have been many changes outdoors: another rock wall, a 30-foot hedge of bamboo. New apple bananas, already bursting with flowers and small fruit.
There is some sort of story attached to these. No one would ever have expected this staid and slow-growing family to plant anything so impetuous or impatient as a banana. I think it may have been an impulse buy—or maybe a sale, or senility. But they have become a handsome and well-adapted addition, alongside the fan palm.
The lilikoi vines are inching back, after what seems like five years with no passionfruit. Another new sapling, and new fruit: Meyer lemons, in prolific numbers, like ornaments on a Charlie Brown Christmas tree.
And the old-timers, the graceful reminders of Tutu’s hand in the garden: spider lilies, maiden’s hair fern.
When the light started to fade, a birthday cake (“Orient Express”) pulled into station. Again– a story for this cake— but I can’t remember. A train, a book, a PBS program? It’s been a month, and in a world too fast for slow trains (let alone books, or PBS) this has slipped through my sieve-like mind.
I remember something about a delicate crumb, and maybe almonds, or tea? A fine footing for 6+ candles, the weight of their wishes, and the brightly-burning best of our memories.