The Friday after Valentine’s Day felt like being in some sort of sweet golden dream: the coast was sunny and blue-skied, the air was warm, and it felt exactly like a place where you’d never find the dance floor empty. While I know our dear friends and family in San Diego get this every day, we do not. Up here we pride ourselves on our rugged coasts: rocky and cliff-edged, fog-banked and moody. But on Friday, this place was in the most beautiful mood.
Which was good, because the guys and I were nursing a serious sugar hangover. We all needed to get outside.
I can’t quite get my head around it, but we’ve had another birthday here, and another birthday cake along with it (the birthday boy tried to hide from the candles, but he loved the cake). He wanted an orange cake – no surprise there. We made it together, early on the morning of his birthday. We shared it with grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles, and lots of birthday love. Continue reading
“More nornge” Lucas says, chin dripping juice, pointing to the pile of oranges on the kitchen counter. “More nornge, tree nornge.” He bites each slice clean, then places the peel gently, lovingly, into the line of sunny crescents he has built along the edge of the table. “Pees more nornge.”
He eats them, and stacks them, until I cut him off.