Luck

Yesterday evening, in a valiant effort to make conversation despite his dozing off, Beloved Husband asked:

How old are you now? Fifty-seven? Fifty-six?

Fifty-six. 

It's just a number, really. To me, the number means nothing in particular. 

The hard part this year, was not having my Daddy call to say Happy Birthday.  

People were kind throughout the day. There were thoughtful gifts from my siblings and from Cherished Friend. There were texts from extended family members and friends, and well wishes from Facebook Friends, and cake with co-workers (a vast improvement over last year, when the birthday cake was in the office and I was at home with COVID). I ordered lunch for myself and Beloved Husband, with enough leftovers for dinner, too. It was all fine. 

I find it difficult to be the object of that level of deliberate kindness; it is uncomfortable for a variety of reasons. Fortunately, I will go back to flying under the radar today, so all will be back to normal. 

My fortune cookie from lunch did bode well. (Provided, of course, that the luck is Good Luck, and not Bad Luck.) 

We shall see how the new trip around the sun unfolds.