The day after the date of my birth
No big boats steamed by this morning during my run around the island. Not that I recall. A run down to Margaret Island and once around its 5.3 km perimeter has been a 7:30 a.m. habit on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays ever since filmmaker Steven Lovy went back to Hollywood some weeks ago.
When a long, double-width Danube river cruise ship is making its way from the Black Sea to the Black Forest or vice versa and the waves it churns up catch the rays of the morning sun and they reflect back in the vessels oversized windows, it's really something to see. And the way those big, long boats cruise alongside the island so smoothly, it feels for a second or two like the island itself is moving.
So I ran clockwise around, contrary to most morning runners, as I've been doing ever since Steve left. Just for a change. This required me to run on pavement first for a few km before the padding turned up underfoot just before the track bends right and crosses a service road en route to the island's east coast. That road crossing is the most treacherous part of the run. The only traffic at that hour are taxis to one of the island's two hotels or big delivery trucks to the same locations or to one or another sport facility or food and drink place. But there's no zebra and no light so those motherfuckers don't even slow down when a runner darts across. And that runner has been running 3 or 4 km down a quiet, wooded path and quite likely has headphones on. I wonder how many deaths have occurred at that crossing. Some morning when I'm good and depressed I may just try and prove something.
But I wasn't depressed at all this morning. Yesterday was my 38th birthday. A cosy little party was held on our patio and garden with healthy refreshments and snacks and a lively little group was assembled. I wasn't sure how it would turn out or if anyone would show up and got nervous in the morning when 5 1/2-year old Eldar announced "today is Poppy's party!"
But just the right number came and everyone loved my cake which I baked myself from scratch. No eggs, no yeast, no cocoa. "It's seriously the best cake I've had in years." One person said.
While bottles of wine were brought as gifts, not one was finished. People were happier to consume the rosehip lemonade we'd prepared. My salsa and dips were also popular. Today I sent off the first installment of a lengthy privatisation study and got word that the client loves it and that a 25% advance payment has been made.
My throat still troubles me a bit, perhaps less. A Russian friend at the party told me he had the same trouble and that it is indeed ulcers and that for him antibiotics have been the answer. He gave me the names and numbers of his doctors. So if it comes to that, I've got another option.
When a long, double-width Danube river cruise ship is making its way from the Black Sea to the Black Forest or vice versa and the waves it churns up catch the rays of the morning sun and they reflect back in the vessels oversized windows, it's really something to see. And the way those big, long boats cruise alongside the island so smoothly, it feels for a second or two like the island itself is moving.
So I ran clockwise around, contrary to most morning runners, as I've been doing ever since Steve left. Just for a change. This required me to run on pavement first for a few km before the padding turned up underfoot just before the track bends right and crosses a service road en route to the island's east coast. That road crossing is the most treacherous part of the run. The only traffic at that hour are taxis to one of the island's two hotels or big delivery trucks to the same locations or to one or another sport facility or food and drink place. But there's no zebra and no light so those motherfuckers don't even slow down when a runner darts across. And that runner has been running 3 or 4 km down a quiet, wooded path and quite likely has headphones on. I wonder how many deaths have occurred at that crossing. Some morning when I'm good and depressed I may just try and prove something.
But I wasn't depressed at all this morning. Yesterday was my 38th birthday. A cosy little party was held on our patio and garden with healthy refreshments and snacks and a lively little group was assembled. I wasn't sure how it would turn out or if anyone would show up and got nervous in the morning when 5 1/2-year old Eldar announced "today is Poppy's party!"
But just the right number came and everyone loved my cake which I baked myself from scratch. No eggs, no yeast, no cocoa. "It's seriously the best cake I've had in years." One person said.
While bottles of wine were brought as gifts, not one was finished. People were happier to consume the rosehip lemonade we'd prepared. My salsa and dips were also popular. Today I sent off the first installment of a lengthy privatisation study and got word that the client loves it and that a 25% advance payment has been made.
My throat still troubles me a bit, perhaps less. A Russian friend at the party told me he had the same trouble and that it is indeed ulcers and that for him antibiotics have been the answer. He gave me the names and numbers of his doctors. So if it comes to that, I've got another option.
1 Comments:
At 4:16 AM,
Neetee said…
A Happy Belated B-Day!
Thank you for sharing such a lovely day with us. The party seemed to be just right. For a moment, I was there. I am quite curious about the recipe for your cake. Here's hoping for many more years to come for you without a sore throat, of course. From another Leo.
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