However Old You Are, It’s Good to Own a Pitchfork Friday Round-Up

Seventy-seven is cool but it’s got nothing on seventy-eight. Tomorrow’s my birthday. I don’t dread it or rue it or pretend it’s not happening. I’m oddly proud of being an old person and feel that, in many ways, I am just coming into my own. I’ll maybe get there by eighty. (I like writing the numbers out. It feels more elegant.)

Last night at a favorite restaurant, I had my first Manhattan. It was a beautiful burgundy color with a perfect cherry on a skewer. Deep and mellow, the Manhattan went perfectly with a gorgeous bowl of French onion soup with melted gruyere cheese. It was possibly the best thing I’ve ever eaten, although I say that a lot.

We have a new water heater. An amazing plumber showed up early this morning, diagnosed our dire situation, arranged to have a new water heater delivered, shoveled mud off our back walk, carried in a package from the front porch, brought the garbage bin up from the street, and had the new water heater installed in three hours. I consider all of these things, especially the water heater after the icy sponge bath this morning, to be extraordinary birthday presents.

I wore my Street Angels Milwaukee Outreach fleece all day. The young man at the pet supply store asked me about it and I told him that I had been on the board for several years. He commented on what good work they do for homeless folks and then gently tapped his chest, saying very softly, I know that life.

When I’m done with this post, I’m going to take a hot shower. I’m going to lotion up, put on my lounging wear (such as it is), and make dinner. It’s thundering out and going to rain more. Tomorrow, to celebrate my birthday, I’m going to clean up the back porch. There is an unfortunate situation with straw for the dog houses that needs to be addressed. It’s all good, though. I have a pitchfork.