Favored

My birthday gift to myself this year was to celebrate over brunch with a few of my favorite people, who each went home with a little symbol of the sparkle they bring to my life.

It's a wonderful thing to look around a room, and realize you can die anytime with the certainty that you will have a splendid funeral with charming guests, plenty of food, an abundance of kindness and wit, and buckets of flowers. Everything after that is icing and sprinkles.

"Will there be presents?" my sister asked me on the phone yesterday morning as I was putting on my jewelery.

"I hope so," I grinned, feeling deliciously birthday princess-y.

"Good," she said wickedly. "None of that 'no gifts' nonsense."

Anyway, what's a cake without icing and sprinkles?



There were lovely presents. A vintage desk (at last, a real desk!) from my true love. Kitschy-kitty salt and pepper shakers that instantly fell under the category of things to grab in a fire. Chocolates, wine, flowers, and many more pretty things.

I hate to play favorites, but I have to confess that this last present of the day beat all the rest:



As someone with a better grasp of math than me pointed out, my fortieth year is now officially underway.

So far, it rocks.


(Snapped by Missy.)