32

On this day 32 years ago I was born to my parents (who were also both 32).

I'm happy at this stage of my life to be settled in a home I love with a family I love. I'm happy with my job, my hobbies, my writing pursuits. I'm happy that I have now perfected the art of poaching an egg. I'm happy that I have a whole new year spread out before me waiting to be experienced. I'm happy that the Christmas decorations are all put away.

I'm happy that it snowed for my birthday.

You can still see little blades of grass through it. But I guess you can't have everything.

These photos are from New Year's Eve, which I spent partially with the boy playing with various trains (our house is overrun with them) and partially alone, writing away on my novel. Zach was at church filling up the baptistry (which, because we're Baptists and immerse adults and older children, takes about four hours). At midnight I was still writing when from all around the house came the sound of fireworks and gunshots (yes gunshots, and keep in mind that I live right in the city, not in the Old West).

When I put away the Christmas decorations I decided to shake the mantel up a little bit. I brought up a large framed puzzle I got from a neighbor for free after her garage sale. It's obviously from the late 1960s or early 1970s. It's obviously not Zach's favorite. But we needed a little color in that room and the puzzle matches the new rug I put in there a while back.

Flanking the puzzle are a watercolor painting I did a while back that I really like (and has been hidden away for a while), and a watercolor I got at a flea market for a quarter. Various vases and bowls in green, along with some birch branches finish off the look.