Last night, in the bathroom, having traipsed there with drinks firmly in hand, Eleanor and I were noting that we'd somehow, through the vagaries of time and distance, become wedding-and-funeral friends. I haven't seen her since my father's funeral, and she hadn't seen Dan and Stephanie since Jeff's and my wedding seven years ago.Some things about us have changed.

Some most emphatically have not.

Crazy, the lot of you (low-res version)
at , Tull, Arkansas, United States by domesticat.

Here's us, being dorks in formalwear, seven years ago when Jeff and I married. Yep, that's me in the wedding gown, all long hair and glasses. If you look to your left, you can see two people hiding under the skirt of my dress. The one in white is Kara, and the one in green is Stephanie. On the right-hand side of the photo, back in the back, Dan is in a green shirt and doing his best to be seen over jowilson.

Or, if you want a more standard photo, there we all are again at the wedding rehearsal. Dan and Stephanie are front and center.

We are off for several days in Detroit, for a trip that has been many years in the making. We will spend time with two of the people who are (somewhat) responsible for Jeff and me working up the bravery to actually, physically, meet each other all those years ago.

I could think that maybe I dreamed one of you, but not all of you; the carnage of my kitchen proves that you were here, really here, and that this house bore witness to a party the likes of which I haven't seen in many years. You were here, and I remember sitting in my favorite spot in the the reading room, far-cornered on the thirdhand couch with a drink in my hand, looking from one face to another and smiling to myself as I clutched my drink. "You said you wanted a birthday party!" was exclaimed to me over and over, as Yet Another Geek came here with proffered alcohol and food.

Well, according to my computer's clock, we just wrapped up the year 28. That was … eventful.

What's 29 got in store? Anyone got any ideas?

Well, I do: I just took my meds, and they're about to make me tump over, so my first Official Prognostication for my birthday is that I will now sleep. Deeply. Until six a.m., when my evil little Tenzing (who, by the way, the vet says is 14 pounds now) will wake me up because he's huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuungry.

Then he'll eat two bites and go back to sleep.

Obnoxious little twit.

You know how, every now and then, you have the need to say something without flowery language, without pretense, because what you have to say doesn't need any dressing-up?

Yeah. Forty-five minutes at level eight, biznitches. (If you said "huh?" then read this entry for the explanation.)

One more level to go and then I will—finally—be back to my pre-pneumonia fitness level.

Whatcha wanna guess I want for my birthday? Admittedly, that's two days from now, but you know what? I think I might just have to go for it.

This is a shawl salvaged from a pattern gone desperately, desperately wrong. We're talking "throw the unfinished project across the room and screech out loud" wrong. I'd started working this yarn in an Irish net stitch, which looks like a large series of interconnected X's with open areas in between.