Thirty-nine

I started this birthday out on Columbia Road,  in shorts and t-shirt in the pitch black, 2 miles into a 3.5-mile run, listening to Allison Krauss and Union Station sing "Forget About It."

Then I came home and took out the trash.

I grabbed a Sam Adams Cream Stout from the fridge.

I sat down at my piano and practiced music for "Songs For A New World" rehearsal later tonight; the one that needed the most work was a piece called "She Cries."

Trying not to read too much into the depressing subject matter of these early-morning pursuits.   Or that I'm starting out the year staying up so f@#$ing late.

Again.

Oh well.  Looking forward to waking up to some warm sunshine.

Update:


Y'all.... I had a fabulous birthday.  The co-workers bought flowers and cupcakes.  The family all wrote.  The (100 or so) Facebook friends weighed in;  others texted, called, and one sent this awesome link to an NPR feature on the Goldberg Variations.  MSF sent jewelry.  At rehearsal, my musician friends sang en masse; Claudia and Cousin J sang solo on my voicemail;  my sister called with the nephews so Henry could sing his Power Rangers song and Oliver could say "Aunt Karin" for the first time in my life.

Meanwhile. the weather was the first day of summer instead of the second of spring; I biked the 7 miles home from Davis Square at midnight in nothing but running shorts and a cardigan.  Earlier, I clocked a 4-mile run in a sunny breeze;  then when crossing the Mass Ave bridge on my way to a 7 p.m. rehearsal, got to view this sunset over the Charles basin:

All good.  All turning my frown upside-down.  Thanks, all.