There Goes Twenty-Four

Yesterday proved to be a good day to turn 25. Despite some of Memphis' best humidity, the rain didn't disrupt my special day, and it only slightly added some natural waive to my flat-ironed hair. I received a fabulous Miss Muff'n cake, calla lillies, and a Grisanti's dinner. (I'm trying not be bitter that my mother's presence was sorely missed.) My father treated me, my sis, and her husband. It was probably one of the nicest times we've ever had. I received complimentary tiramisu from the chef with a glowing birthday candle. I tried to reflect if that had ever happened to me before, and I don't think it had.

On the drive home, my father and I were talking about how I was as a child. He said I kept to myself a lot and often hummed. Sometimes, I would try to keep up with my sister, but for the most part, I was in my "own world." Things had to be my idea. He said you could ask me for a kiss and I'd reply "No." If you persisted, I'd say, "I'll have to make some." Then he said I wouldn't make them, or I'd wait. Strangely, I can actually remember opening my mouth wide and using my finger to stir up a batch of those kisses.

My grandmother sent me a card with two pictures enclosed. I think I'm about three or four in both photos. One displays me polishing off a bowl of ice-cream with my grandfather--one of his best-known pastimes, and the other shows me sporting my Dorothy Hamill haircut. I'm still jealous that my locks used to be naturally straight and high-lighted.

By the way, I'm still sore from bowling. Is this just part of the maturing process?