I did the math three times. I thought, for sure, I was going to be seventy-four on my next birthday. I’m not; I’m going to be seventy-three. The same thing happens every year: my birthday present to myself is finding out I’m a year younger than I thought.
I dog walked with Regina and Di yesterday and did some errands in the village, then I came home to tidy up the house and putter around the yard. By noon, I was tired; I’d been up since four am, so I thought I’d have a little nap.
At one, the phone rang. I’d fallen asleep and was late getting to Paula’s where I’d been invited for lunch with her three siblings, Robert, James and Monica. (James owns the home beside Paula’s and Robert’s house is across the street from them!) We had a great lunch and gab fest.
Then, I came home to putter the rest of the day away. For the foreseeable future I have no guests or day trips planned, so today is my first day of a long rest.
In the afternoon, I got a welcome email from Doug, my friend with the fabulous orchard, inviting me to come by and pick some of his abundant Apples, so I’m going there later this morning to pick more Apples that I’ll peel, slice, coat in Lemon juice and freeze for Winter Apple cakes.
Today is going to be like yesterday—sunny all day and in the low twenties all afternoon. In fact, tomorrow is supposed to be twenty-five and there’s naught but sunshine in the forecast. Life is good.