I just returned from a week away visiting friends, during which I:

- spent an hour on a trampoline with L (age 8 ) and
G (age 5), during which time they performed the dance routine from Love Is A Battlefield.
- spent an afternoon and evening with young persons (see above) crawling on my person.
- was taken as a guest to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, and also treated to lunch, and other sundry smaller treats, all because it was “Elsa’s birthday in Boston,” as in “No, you have to take the front seat —- it’s your birthday in Boston!” [See disclaimer.]
- learned that the Boston MFA freaking rocks.
- walked all unawares into a museum gallery only to discover that it housed the actual medieval Spanish chapel whose challenging and innovative transfer and installation I studied at some length last year.
- was regaled with (largely undeserved) accolades of my professional glory and graciousness by my
former boss and co-worker.
- got drunk, just once and only for about 25 minutes, but in the company of two beloved academics and their adorable 21-year-old research assistant, who just got cuter the more I drank.
- was offered one hypothetical job.
- got the shortest haircut my barber would allow.
- consumed one raspberry gelato topped with fresh raspberries.
- came home to a message from my sister asking if she could please bring me a birthday cake.

It’s been a pretty good week.

Disclaimer: it was certainly not my birthday, except in Boston, or so reasoned my companions, who are evidently more in tune with eddies of irregularity within the space/time continuum than I am.

Tomorrow is my birthday, and Elli’s falls two weeks from now. I suggest we spend two weeks in merriment: bring on the gelato, trampolines, cake, and haircuts, not to mention the occasional vodka & tonic.
Let us commence rejoicing.

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