** Happily 32 **

My private, breakfast celebration involved the death of an owl cupcake
named Franco and the best cup of almond biscotti tea.

For my birthday, I played the video of my family singing to me from earlier that month, followed by my sister's charming birthday voicemail, more of a gospel rendition she improvised. Then I opened my mom's card telling me where to find the gifts she hid for me in my own house — awesome! — and my sister-in-laws lovely bracelet. A dinner out in our new digs didn't seem as much of a treat as trial, so we stayed in. I made cupcakes with owl faces on them, a fun recipe from my sister's earlier gift, and ate one for breakfast and one for supper. Altogether a great day.

Now I'm 32, another number that should have more meaning than they ever do. And on to my New Year's wishes, now only slightly behind.

Ah, Franco. He was such a happy, if slightly befuddled, little dude. RIP.