Birthday week and content round-up (and sonnet)

I celebrated my birthday earlier this week. December is a celebratory month already, so it’s fun to be able to piggy back on that. Some highlights:

*Getting together with friends for breakfast and coffee and hearing from more far-flung people.

*Going out for Mexican food (a margarita! guacamole!) with my family. They gave me miniature accessories for my miniature kitchen, and some puzzles.

*Hearing my church choir sing Happy Birthday at rehearsal — pitched very very high as part of the warm-up. I will never hear it sung that high at a birthday party!

* The birthday thread on our Patreon page! SHU asked people to post something they’d learned from me and it is making me feel many warm fuzzies to know my catchphrases are going through people’s heads!

* I’m headed to Longwood Gardens with my husband this weekend to see the lights and Christmas displays.

So, lots of good stuff. As for content, the Before Breakfast podcast suggested people “Plan a Monday adventure” and “Go in search of lost time.” As the longer episode, I did a time makeover of a Before Breakfast listener named Haley, talking about some various things she tried in her life and how they worked.

Over at Vanderhacks, my Substack newsletter, I discussed how to make time for speculative projects in a post called “Put big dreams first.” Behind the paywall I had tips on “How to make virtual events more engaging,” and ideas on “How to enjoy your birthday as an adult.”

Finally, here’s a sonnet, called “Bus stop.”

Four weeks before the solstice, and the sky
is full of shadows, lengthened on the street.
The school bus stops, the children shout and try
to stop the boy from racing off. His feet

are pushing out his shoes, his elbows taut,
his eyelashes are tangled and his hair
is rumpled. See, he reaches — soon he’s caught
a single yellow leaf. The autumn air

is chilled with wind, then warm in setting sun,
this moment in between when all is light.
So why should we be sad? The boy will run,
and any thoughts of darkness take to flight

like squawking birds, against the golden gleam
of afternoon, of joy that’s like a dream.