twenty-seven

I turned 27 on Saturday, March 1st. I spent it with L., a wonderful guy I’m dating, and whom I’ve been quiet about because it’s been going so well and I didn’t want to jinx it. On Friday, we drove down to Provo to see John Lithgow’s “Stories by Heart,” in which he mixed a PG Wodehouse and a Ring Lardner story with stories of his own childhood and was absolutely captivating for two hours. Thank you, E., for gifting me the tickets!

On Saturday, I got to sleep late, skype with my family (who, in three different skype conversations, all proceeded to sing me happy birthday because my family is adorable), bake a cake (Smitten Kitchen’s bittersweet chocolate and pear, in case you were wondering), and spend about two hours at the Sam Weller’s bookstore, combing every shelf to my heart’s content. L. bought me two (second-hand) books, Madeleine L’Engle’s And Both Were Young, and Zoe Ferraris’ Kingdom of Strangers, both authors I’ve read before and both books I didn’t know existed, so that was exciting.

On Sunday, I first went to church (and even went up when it was time for the birthday blessing/prayer, even though my introvert self resisted the idea of getting up in front of everyone), then met up with L. again, for a walk through Liberty Park in the sun and an afternoon spent at Beans and Brews, with a book, a muffin, and a soy hazelnut latte.

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Yes, I have once again managed to find a guy that thinks reading together at a coffee place is a perfectly reasonable and wonderful way to spend an afternoon. I’m sure you see why I like him.

I have been swamped with papers to write and chapters to research and a bunch of other stuff to do, so it was absolutely lovely to take the weekend off. You know me, I like low-key birthdays, and this was about as low-key as it gets, and about as perfect.

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