The age 42 is jangling its irritating ringtone in my ear (okay, it's not attractive to let your mouth hang open like that - yes, that's how old I am), and to console myself because I hate birthdays I bought myself a
present.
I haven't read some of these stories ("Reunion," "Food of the Gods") since I was a very young girl, and others ("The Star," "Dial F for Frankenstein") since college, and I've
never before read "The Wind from the Sun." Can you believe it? I guess I never got around to it - and it's wonderful, a beautiful story, so sad and heroic.
UPDATED:
This dates me.
Labels: birthdays, frolic, literature