Birthdays

I’ve learned about myself as I’ve gotten older. I’ve realized that I use food as a way to express to people that I love them. I cook for people as a way to thank them for being a part of my life. I use food as a way to take care of the people around me. Food can be a hug. A good meal with great company can be not only catharsis, but become unadulterated joy. This is why I like hosting my own birthday party. I get to cook as much as I want, and because it’s my birthday no one gets to tell me I can’t.

So, for the last couple days I’ve been cooking, and prepping, and generally fussing about to prepare for my birthday party. And tonight, so many people that I love came to my house to help me celebrate. I did the thing I always do. I cooked too much and made people try whatever new whiskey was in my cupboard. I laughed and told stupid stories and my spouse poked me until I start talking in a Scottish accent. The dog cuddled with new friends on the couch. I ate more cheese that I should have. I drank too much whiskey. I ogled my new presents. I talked about books and beer and my favorite recipes. I got so many hugs.

My heart feels so full. I feel so loved.

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