July is birthday month at our house. Annie and Pearl, even as infants, always seemed to have not one but three or four birthday parties, and this year has been no exception.  Yesterday was the big party here — Bruce and I cooked (hamburgers made with organic farm beef), and generally stayed in the background.

I went to bed early last night, exhausted, but then about the time I turned off my reading lamp, a troop of teenagers (including my almost 13-year-old) took over our backyard. They built a fire and roasted marshmallows. And they laughed. Really loud. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, not exactly, but they seemed to be having an awfully good time.

Needless to say, I did not get up early this morning. But I’m here now, ensconced in my writing cabin, glancing up to see “I dwell in Possibility” — thank you E.D. and the old friend who made the pillow with those words — and I’m writing.