Ponce, Here I Come

Yesterday was the perfect day and Plottie isn't too sore this morning. He had been saying for years he wanted to play basketball on his crooked number birthday and sure enough last night was Tuesday night. Tuesday nights some of the old gang has started playing b-ball in the gym at the middle school where we all played, outside on the asphalt courts, for fifteen years.

But Plottie hadn't run full court on a full-sized court in a long time and he was a little bit apprehensive about if he'd be able to keep up.

The good news is he could.

The bad news is things hurt this morning that he's never felt before, like the fronts of his feet where his laces tie. Walking home last night was a lot harder than playing ball. But no problema. It was so much fun that he's going to do the Ponce de Leon now, hoping to find the fountain of youth somewhere to get his skills back. Last night was just about survival and now that he's done that he's ready to actually play well again.

Happy Birthday to Plottie.



Lunch yesterday with the Mushes was beautiful, at Lulu in SOMA. The dessert you're looking at was Meyer Lemon and half a cow's worth of heavy cream. With cream on top.



Plot checked his blog archive yesterday to realize that the Plotniks and Mushniks have been doing birthday lunches for at least six years now. He also discovered that he used to be a lot wordier in his blogs. We live, we learn.