Why is it we feel special on our birthdays? I woke up early yesterday and immediately thought: Hey! Today is my birthday! Birthday greetings throughout the day added to that special feeling. I started off the morning with my beloved writing group. Hubby, whom I'll call Mr. S, asked if the group would celebrate my day. No, I said, I don't publicize my birthday and the group has never celebrated birthdays. Hmmm. Maybe we should....

    A friend from the writing group and I made plans to visit a plant nursery a ways out of town that carries native plants. I printed out a Google map and directions, which had us driving around in circles through an industrial area behind dozens of roaring trucks, and asking directions in a gas station, from a man at a bus stop, from a hard-hatted worker, before we found the place. Coming home was a nightmare of intersecting intersections, underpasses and overpasses at peak commuter hour. Mr. S. was in a tizzy when I arrived home because I'd missed several long distance birthday phone calls. Dinner at our favorite restaurant with son, daughter-in-law and grand girls was the perfect finale of my day.

    This morning at the verdulería, where I'd walked to buy parsley and cilantro, I overheard the vegetable lady and a client dressed in a maid's uniform discussing the likely winner in the upcoming run-off presidential election. Those two outspoken women let fly their dislike and distrust of a candidate's communist connections and proposed program. This surprised me. I would have expected them to support the candidate who claims to speak for the working class. Not being able to vote this time (as explained in previous blogs), I'm going to assume an observer's stance.

Speedy Gonzalez, our tortoise, sneaked into the house and visited me as I was writing on the computer. He also peed on the rug. Fortunately, his pee and excrement have no odor. I scolded him gently as I marched him back outside.