We were not able to celebrate with my niece after all on account of my brother being socked in by worse weather than fell on Boston, but
spatch and
rushthatspeaks and I joined my parents this afternoon for my father's birthday observed with New York-style pizza from Joe's in Harvard Square and a slightly spontaneous cherry cake with whipped cream and strawberries supplemented by small creatures from Burdick's, centrally a rabbit in dark chocolate for my father who considers white chocolate an abomination. (I enjoyed my white chocolate sheep Lovecraftianly.) I had gotten him the pre-birthday present of the Library of America's Into the Blue: American Writing on Aviation and Spaceflight (2011) and my mother the unbirthday present of Dolores Hitchens' The Cat Wears a Noose (1945) before coming home to Hestia who doesn't even wear a collar. It had been ages since I ate a slice of pizza that could really be folded over. There are considerable leftovers whose life expectancy we have no great hopes of.
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