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A fair wind under the walnut tree. Wasps buffeted above teasels, where the ladybirds hide from Zack's giant finger and thumb. He's made a house for them in a yoghurt pot, whether they like it or not. Memories of doing the same one summer with earwigs, holidaying in a cereal multi-pack.
A wasp stung Mimi’s foot as she tumbled jigsaws from their box. A yelp and a good long hug, and she did fine. There are too many of them this year. Our Enid Blyton boy stomps around shouting, “Nasty old wasp, you perfect nuisance!”
He's making a boat from a walnut, halved and scooped like a dugout canoe. Digs up potatoes with Grandma and says, “Happy birthday, Daddy!” Runs to give me a big birthday hug. When it clouds over, the heat stays.
I sit down to let the story write. I ask it what it wants to be and rewrite what it's not. Gradually, it makes all clear. This way feels right – although heaven knows there are many paths across the mountain.
Later, Zack helps decorate my cake and prepare the surprise. He whispers it loudly. He runs about with his hand on his chest. “Is that my heart? My heart is excited!”
He's made a rainbow on a card for me, a sun on the reverse. Today I learned that a rainbow forms at a 42-degree angle from the sun's rays. Today I am forty-two.
Happy happy birthday! Such a good year- the year I was 42, I decided that I knew the answers to everything. Sadly, it did not stick and the Douglas Adams effect has faded since. May it endure all year long and beyond for you. 🥳
Happy Birthday, Simon! May the rest of the week bring an abundance of joy in surprising ways.