Birthday

I had my birthday last week and was made to feel special. Don't take for granted that everyone wants to feel special on their birthday! Said the Hannah about the Tom.  

My colleagues bought a cake (all hat, no cowboy - the roses were on styrofoam forms and the cake wasn't much better), had a Sunday lunch together with Persian pomegranate/walnut chicken (I've had Persian food three times, in Newport, Istanbul, and here, and it's been the same meal all three times), sent texts, and gave chocolates/flowers. Then there were lovely affirmations from my old family and friends. It was turning 31 in as much style as one might hope.  

After work I went to the local ice rink on my birthday, too. Three dollars for 30 minutes, which is enough for me. I get tired from all the triple lutzes.  

If you're interested, I have a FOMO-inducing picture from the Sunday lunch which I haven't posted to avoid asking permission of everyone in it.  Rarely has there been such a jovial-looking group, and I will be happy to email it on request. (Cricket, cricket.) But the crowd included two Armenians, a Georgian, a Persian/Swede, a Zimbabwean/Lesothoian, an Argentine, and a Spaniard. So exotic!

23 Feb, 2015 update - here's the picture

Too exotic at times. I am familiar with various efforts by good people to live in intentional community.  This now is what you'd call "unintentional community," when five women (wouldn't have to be, it could be any mix) live in a garishly decorated house, share a food budget, and don't have a format for addressing their cross-cultural misunderstandings when it's not the American who is being overbearing (though maybe she is grumpy), or someone ate the precious block of hard cheese in two meals that her colleague/housemate found across town on her day off.

Below I give you the Aztek restaurant. All things considered, it has a nice menu and appropriate decor.  It's the nicest restaurant in town. A salad is $1.40 and a steak is $10.  

Lastly, I was asked yesterday at work if I'd been a cheerleader. The inquirer had good enough English to use the word "perky," which if you're familiar with my junior high stint in cheerleading, would not be your adjective of choice.