It doesn't have quite the same ring as sixteen candles, but then again, "birthday pie" doesn't have quite the same ring as "birthday cake," and I was still perfectly happy to eat it. 
Dear friends, the rumors are true. I am 38 today.
I am also still feeling a bit quiet, but I suspect that this has less to do with any new Existentialism Virii, and more to do with woolgathering, quiet mind that precedes a flurry of activity. As birthdays go, it was definitely a quiet one, filled with catching up on some long-unanswered email, watching the Gilmore Girls Season One dvd box set that the lovely and brilliant Lloyd gave me for my birthday present, washing out a few zillion mason jars to prepare for this weekend's ExpoFestO'Rama of paradise jelly, and spending an hour in a hot bath, emerging blackcurrant-scented and covered from neck to knees in sky-blue glitter. It was also a day for discovering that we did not have bread for the making of turkey sandwiches, and correcting this oversight by starting a batch of pumpkin brioche. Will more be revealed in time? Oh, absolutely.
Until that time, though, let me say what I should have said yesterday: I am blessed, lucky, so thankful to and for everyone who has visited this silly little pink and yellow page, old friends, new friends and friends from points between. I should have told you weeks, months, years ago just how much fun I am having with you. I simply must redress this. Stick with me, kids, and we'll go places, I promise.
Happy Birthday.
Speaking of going places, may I recommend west?
(I guess it’s almost all west from where you are.)
Cheers,
‘mouse