by cheri block
This is a big week.
My brother Steve, also known as Stevie in my blogs, turns sixty on Wednesday. I’m not sure how he feels about it. We celebrated on Saturday and he seemed fine with moving into a new decade but he was not particularly philosophic. I sang happy birthday but didn’t eat the flourless cake.
My dear friend Kayti Rasmussen, known also in the blogosphere as Pacho Fa, turns eighty-something tomorrow, but we will celebrate her birthday lunch on Friday of this week. I shall encourage her to have dessert, but I will refrain.
My thesis advisor, Herbie Lindenberger, turns eighty-four on Thursday. He and I are meeting then at Stanford at 2pm for an espresso. (He doesn’t know I am taking him a jar of olallieberry jam for his birthday present. I hope the jam will make him forget the fact that I was supposed to have a chapter ready for him to read.) I will order a low-fat latte.
My friend Pam Mah turned sixty on Saturday, so I am taking her out for dinner at Tamarine, a Vietnamese restaurant in Palo Alto on Thursday night. This will be a tough culinary menu to navigate.
All in all, other people’s birthdays are wonderful excuses to dine out.
Except, I have cut back on sugar and carbs in the last three weeks in an effort to stave off any belly fat that is trying its darndest to make its way to my mid-section. Belly fat is like a homely lost puppy that shows up at your door: it’s hard to get rid of once it’s there.