This evening I hosted a semi-surprise 30th birthday party for the NPV. It was only semi-surprise because he'd (he claimed) noticed too many cars parked on the street, and because the ten or so people who were here in my living room waiting to yell "surprise" were yakking away and he could hear them through the door when he and his fiancee were knocking. In fact (I don't think he noticed this) they (all the guys at least) were so deeply engrossed in discussing the weight they'd gained (ladies, don't you HATE when guys--and these weren't overweight men--obsess about this?!) that most of them hadn't heard them knocking on the door and were a bit caught off-guard when it opened to let in the guest of honor.
The cake was put together thanks to Susan, who came over early to help with prep--I was way, way behind (I'd turned off my alarm, and instead of the insomnia that I've suffered the past two Friday nights, I slept straight through for over 14 hours, waking at 2:30 PM with a nasty backache from an overfull bladder) , and all my grand plans for elaborate decorating were killed by the clock.
Little Augustus Wiggle was a star attraction--at 9 weeks old, he's almost 14 lbs, and has tremendous baby jowls on either side of a wee little nose and mouth. It was the first time Susan or Steven had seen him, and though he spent most of the evening being rocked on his daddy's knees, any who wanted to got to cuddle him in turns. I forgot, again, to get out my camera, but Rachel brought hers, and she's a much better photographer than I, so maybe they'll eventually be cute baby pictures for me to post.
I made my niece/goddaughter's birthday present this afternoon while the cake was in the oven--her 6th birthday is coming up April 18, and every girl needs a little jewelry (in addition to some picture books). She's into the solar system and Spiderman comic, so I may see if there's a science-related book I can find her in addition to the usual fiction.
As to my own (advanced) age...I was rather chagrined to learn that, whereas I automatically think of people who are taller than me as being older than me (that is, adults--because I'm short and thus permanently youthful), the reverse isn't true, and I'm not even within possibilities range for some men who are, well, a bit younger, but definitely considerably taller. It's not like I'm even interested (after all, if someone makes disparaging comments about cats, that's pretty much a deal-breaker), but to be written off by someone with whom you otherwise have a downright remarkable number of shared interests because of piddly little details like "years" is insulting. Ptooie--may he rot. I spit upon his grave.
I have found the cemetery where I wish to be interred! It's probably clear that despite being "too old" for certain young whippersnappers to romance, I am (as far as I know) hale and well, and hope to remain so for decades yet. But since I've been doing so much research about funerary practices for my dissertation, and I'm a "crunchy con", and Daddy's departure came out of the blue (reemphasizing the fact that one never knows one's end) I've decided to nail down my own desires in that quarter. Given that I expire expectedly--this doesn't hold true if I'm abroad at the time or something equally inconvenient to friends and family assembling within a week or so happens--I do NOT want to be embalmed, and I want my mortal remains to be buried in a plain wooden box (the only kind allowed), clad in one of what my sister calls my "Miss Havisham" nightgowns, at Ramsey Creek preserve in South Carolina. That way, it'll be relatively cheap for my estate, and I'll biodegrade quickly and naturally--and people might actually be interested in visiting the site, since it's not a "cemetery" in the conventional sense of the word, but more like a wilderness hiking area. Modern memorial gardens are so incredibly dull, anyway, without the great long saccharine inscriptions and the ornate tombstones that make old churchyards so appealing--I'd rather be let push up wildflowers in the woods.
As to temporal dwelling-places, on Wednesday my mother finalized the purchase of her new townhouse and yesterday she sold the house where we spent 27 or so years (it was way too big, and she and Daddy had been planning to move elsewhere for a long time, but he could never find the perfect house plan for their prospective new place...). She's got to be out of the old place by the end of the month, and so she and some folks from her church spent all day today shifting the lighter items the two miles between house and townhouse. It'll be weird to go "home" again in a month or two...I need to make sure she gives me a key!