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Keep mending broken lines
For her eightieth birthday observed, we celebrated my mother with a three-tier almond cake layered with marzipan icing and raspberry and rose hip preserves, frosted in rose-toned whipped cream, and decorated with pâtes de fruits into the central one of which was socketed the candle to grow on. It looked like a charlotte russe from the Geometric period in slices. We gave her books, cards, balloons, a banner of cats, a pendant like a bronze-pronged sun of creamy golden sapphire on a leather cord. My niece ran around all day with the twins. I am not ready for Daylight Saving Time. I have enough trouble with the regular kind.
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