-and today is the day I was going to write my third once-a-week blog and I was going to write a generic post about turning 90. BUT I didn’t count on such a fuss —a nice fuss—being made about my ninetieth. The 21st was a Sunday, but the fuss began on the Saturday: flowers and food and chocolates and red wine, plus 2 demi-bottles of champagne and 2 bottles of Veuve Clliquot, full size, plus cards with goodies, like soap, apple butter and sauce, and a gift coupon for books,, plus an Icelandic brunch (with gravad lax made by my son John, who has perfected it); a Saturday night complete dinner (salad, casserole, dessert), all the glorious fixings for High Tea, plus a Zoom reunion with my scattered family, and a Zoom chat with friends in another city who left my apartment building over ten years ago. Oh, and the most magnificent carrot cake (exquisitely home-made) I have ever seen.

Wow. I am surfeited.

I’ve been writing thank-you letters all day. So no blog. Bed now, after more birthday cake and ice cream