A new year

It is my birthday today--I am 69--and my expanding squad of dog helpers are spontaneously uniting in an aimable conspiracy to supply me with cakes of various sorts. My dear husband gifted me with flowers and dog paraphernalia, in addition to which he is preparing Chicken Marengo for dinner, a particular favorite. He also, bless him, continues to acquiesce gracefully in my impulsive undertaking to fund my neighbor's custody lawsuit, which I consider a substitute for anniversary, birthday, and Christmas gifts for the duration. I need to see that child safe and would be in a spot if he objected.

I am taking advantage of my birthday-girl status by lounging all afternoon with one of my dogs and doing a great many Gutenberg pages in the interesting survey of history that I mentioned earlier this week.

The day also marks the first time in a long while that a troublesome foot ailment has appeared well enough healed to allow me to resume long dog walks. The dogs have been well treated by my helper army in the meantime, but it was pleasant to get back to the routine, particularly since the cooler fall weather finally has arrived. It was good to join my husband again in his morning walk.