The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
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Saturday, 23 March 2013
2 firsts and... whose counting?
our daughter had her forty-seventh birthday.
How could that be?
I am her father!
How old does that not make me feel? I,
who am what I have always been throughout
my adult life -- a steady forty(ish). How could
she dare be older than yours truly?
We celebrated at a local Chinese restaurant.
Recently opened, and so of unknown quality,
it proved a great success. Eight of us shared
a Banquet item from the menu.
(My first dalliance with what
has always seemed a little self-
indulgent in the past.)
Time to indulge the self, I thought. And did
so with a will.
Furthermore, there was the little matter of
the chopsticks. I have never wielded them
with serious intent before. Last night I did.
Now, putting this in context, I
am at the stage of having problems with
a knife and fork. I had none with the sticks.
Two firsts in a single evening then...
How's that for forty(ish)?
Not so much a poem, more like chopped-up prose... well, it was a heavy night.
The photograph shows the birthday girl. The old git trying to get rid of the paparazzi is her father.