For Andie’s birthday party tonight, each guest was directed to write a poem or bring one, then read it. I think only Andie’s Dad wrote one, and it was a clever and funny rhyme that she read from her iBook. Everyone else’s selections covered a wide variety, although Shel Silverstein and Charles Bukowski were favorites. We had some laughs over a D.H. Lawrence orgy of words, and Andie read a passage of Jeanette Winterson, prose like poetry. Red wine flowed freely, there was birthday cake and cupcakes, and the room was filled with flowers. The audience was a fine group of greatest-hits friends and family; here are Gary, Andie and Megan, conversing in a corner.
And here’s the arrangement that was on the living room table, which features a particularly rare specimen of an in-bloom Katieflower.
