71 years ago my mother gave birth alone at the Polyclinic on West 50th in Manhattan. She laboured without anesthetic and then when she was ready to push they put her to sleep, so it was hours before we met. And then, British peasant that she was, she wanted to breastfeed, to the horror of the other women in the ward and the nurses; in 1950’s America, breastfeeding was vulgar, for animals.
We made it through. Thank you, Mum. I’m sure part of my lifelong good health is due to your cooking good healthy foods through my childhood. Your homemade brown bread, devoured warm with melting butter, your apple pie, your mac and cheese – MMM.
A blessed quiet day with treats already – the usual cavalcade of good wishes on FB from friends near and far, some very far, another reason it’s hard to consider giving up this guilty pleasure. John came by to fix things. The cardinals are at the feeder. Someone left a gorgeous book in the Little Free Library; anything by those great souls Alice and Martin Provensen is a glory.
I danced. Actor Nicky Guadagni almost every day produces an hour of dance music for her friends; we dance with each other on the Zoom screen. August 1st is her birthday too. She played Macca singing that fabulous rocker, “Birthday.” A present from him, too.
Lynn sent a picture from Provence – our mutual friend Isabel with some light reading. It’s thanks to Isabel the book exists; working at L’Arche in 1979, she took time off that summer, provoking the need for a new assistant. Moi.
Lani sent this marvellous card:
LOL. So true. For my daughter. For myself.
Happy birthday, Nicky. Here’s to magnificent Leos everywhere!