Last Sunday we celebrated a lot of years. One hundred and one years for Grandpa. Fifty-eight years for Dorothy. We missed Grandma who would have been ninety-eight on the same day.
I was praying Grandpa would feel well to enjoy his birthday. God answered and gave him a good dream instead of the bad that have made for many unsettled days of late. Dreams seem like reality to Grandpa, and so he told me in an animated tone that he had a really good meal of roast duck that day. The staff informed us that the noon menu was ham and raisin sauce. I would go for the roast duck, especially if Grandma made it.
(Yes, I am wearing a mask. Hannah and I find carbon filter masks a help in days of extreme sensitivity to fragrances.)
Dorothy had a sleepy, unwell day. A bit of cake and ice cream and giant balloon were about all she comprehended of her special day. Our sweet girl!
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