This past Saturday, I turned thirty-two.
Every year on my birthday, it has become a bit of a tradition to post some thoughts about the day. Some random, some less so. You can see the posts from the last two years here and here. I can promise you that a post about thirty-two is on its way. Not today, but soon.
Thirty-two arrived on a quiet and snowy day. It brought with it a lunch with friends in my neighborhood, calls from my family during which various sisters, brothers-in-law, nieces and nephews sang happy birthday, an Upper West Side dessert with my oldest and dearest friends that included ice cream and Nutella crepes, followed closely by incredible french fries at a sports bar with scores of Pittsburghers for the Steelers-Ravens playoff game.
It was, in short, the perfect kind of birthday.
Since my birthday was on a Saturday I couldn't take pictures of the flower-petal trail that led me down the stairs of my house in the morning towards more flowers and a person-sized balloon, or the cake that my friends got for me that followed lunch in the afternoon, but here is a little snippet of Saturday night.
If each year begins as it means to go on, thirty-two is looking great.