West of Eden

Today was Elizabeth's birthday.

I love trying to find just the right gift, but as time goes on, both finances and ideas start to shrink. Asking someone what they want for their birthday almost never works. Most people I know have everything I can afford to buy them and would never ask for the big things they might like anyway. Ask what they want and it is likely to be, "peace on earth, goodwill to all," which is an excellent choice, but way beyond my means.

Sometimes I just give money. Teenagers especially love that. It means they get to go shopping, but adults often end up using the money to pay the water bill, or buy diapers, neither of which are world class presents.

So, I was proud of myself when I thought of a book she might like. One of her favorite people is Dorothy Parker. One of my favorite authors in The New Yorker is David Sedaris. He has a sort of dark, irreverent, honest way of telling a tale that generally grabs my attention and makes me laugh. Albeit a sort of sinister laugh, but a real laugh all the same.

I had a hard time figuring out which book to give her. They never put all the good stories in one place, but I finally picked one out and gave it to her at Play Land this evening, which is where sweet mommies and daddies go with their two year olds, grammas, and godfathers for a birthday snack.

All is well here in the highlands where butterflies fill the air during the day, the night air is chilly enough to require a blanket, and kissing cousins sometimes get too close.