I have somewhat ambivalent feelings about February. Why I hate it: it's cold. By the time February rolls around, it's been winter for a while and it's still going to continue to be winter for another long while, at least up here in the tundra Montréalaise. Why it's better than it might be otherwise: it's short. Why I love it: my birthday! So, this past weekend, I turned 35. For some reason, it felt significant. I am firmly entrenched in my thirties - not just dabbling. I'm an adult. Yes, technically I've been an adult for 17 years, but I still don't really feel like one, so the whole aging thing still seems a bit absurd to me. How can I be 35? Only grown-ups turn 35... I remember when my mom turned 36 and I felt so sorry for her. I was 10 at the time and figured her life was pretty much over as far as any kind of fun and excitement were concerned - what more could she possibly have to look forward to? Well, of course now I know that that's not so very old at all, and I still look forward to so many things, and I still love getting spoiled on my birthday, so thankfully Mr. L doesn't listen to me when I tell him not to...
This year I got a beautiful snowskirt, made by our lovely friend Lienne and her team of Fantasy World Heroes. These skirts are the perfect thing to wear over your clothes in winter to keep your thighs warms and so much more stylish than the ratty wool blanket I've been known tie around my waist while shuffling about the apartment, bemoaning the cold. I think the snowskirt was as much a gift for L. as for me - at least he won't have to endure that disturbing sight any longer. They're on sale at the moment, so now is the perfect time to fancy-up those cold legs...
(photo credit: Fantasy World Heroes)
I also got a very fancy camera bag and some beautiful books from both Mr. L and my dear friend Rebecca.
Mr. L gave me this one by Donald Barthelme for my children's book collection, and Rebecca gave me these sweet, illustrated mini-books put out by McSweeney's.
There's something about tiny books that just kills me, and the backs of these make up an illustration, almost like a puzzle:
In addition to all this spoiling-with-gifts, Mr. L took me out for a great meal at an Italian restaurant on Saturday and I further spoiled myself by ordering a glass of 20-year-old port after dinner. Twenty years does indeed make a difference - it was liquid love. Finally, just to prove that 20 years might make a difference when it comes to the of maturing port, but not much of one when it comes to maturing me, on Sunday, Mr. L and Rebecca and I watched one of my favourite movies from those awkward tweener years, the unapologetically silly Weird Science. Apparently, my sense of humour has refined very little since 1985 because I still laughed the whole way through.