Monday, October 13, 2014

Happy 30th birthday

A literate complaint from a New Yorker writer about the unjust exclusion of non-fiction by the Nobel committee. Right on, brother!

I am just back from my son's birthday celebration. He opened presents at his sister's while tossing her child around; among his gifts were a compass that belonged to his English great-grandfather and a hippo sculpture that was his grandma's. And then we walked to his fab, trendy restaurant on Roncesvalles - he, his sister, her son, her new beau Matt, and their two best friends Holly and Vince.

When we arrived, we were given icy flutes, and a bottle of champagne appeared from Sam's godfather Chris, who'd called from Vancouver to order it for us. And then a delicious feast in a place where everyone knew the guest of honour. This is his world, the world of trendy food and drink, and he swims in it like a comfortable fish. And we get to enjoy.

At one point, I said to Matt, "This is a family that knows how to eat, drink and enjoy." And he said, "That's the best thing I've heard all day." We like him.

Making a card for the birthday boy.
A boy and his uncle 
Bubbles! Big green bubbles!
Going home. Thirty and two.

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