It’s a cloudy day. Cool, damp, but not chilly—60 or so. Our pumpkins are long gone but other houses have Halloween decorations in their yards and windows. The squirrels in the tree outside are getting bolder; each day when I go outside, more and more dirt from my flowerpots is scattered over the terrace. Each pot is full of deep-dug holes. I’m not sure if the squirrels are foraging for something or burying something they’ve already found or feasting on the roots of what had been my newly-growing poppies. Today I went outside and found that a wooden birdhouse—left here by the previous renter, sitting on the railing of the terrace—had fallen into the neighbor’s yard. It hadn’t been particularly windy last night, and I suspect the squirrels got a bit overzealous in their explorations. It feels like the start of fall, albeit a bit late, coinciding with my birthday rather than preceding it.
Yesterday I celebrated my birthday by watching Obama’s prime-time program (prime-time being 5pm here in PST); Andrew and I went to dinner at an Indian restaurant then headed home for the carrot cake cupcakes Andrew had made. Last year, I nearly forgot about my birthday, with our wedding just days away; hard to believe a whole year has passed.
For steadfast readers of Skipping Town--this is my 300th post. I wish I could mark the occasion by, say, spontaneously moving to London or something equally dramatic, but...Maybe by 400. We shall see.