Rowan Tree and Red Thread

Now the rain has cleared it's a beautiful morning. The slanting sunlight is throwing long shadows and washing the trees with a wonderful golden light. The sky is clearing, leaving behind a crystal blue canvas to paint the new day upon.

Sigh. At least my office has a window.

I'm 39 today. This is the first birthday in several years I've not spent in Dublin so unfortunately I won't be having the usual get-together with friends at my mother's place. I'm sure anyone really missing them could ring my mother and ask her to make the traditional brownies anyway.

Instead for this birthday I'm in my wife's parents' place and my father-in-law has just brought me an early morning cup of tea. I'm watching Rowan make (and remake) a house of cards. She is discovering the frustrations of building with cards but showing a admirable persistence in the face of the usual setback when building in such unhelpful materials.

I think it would go better if she tucked her pyjama top into her trousers to stop it brushing against her construction when she leans forward. There have been more tears and heartache than any three episodes of Grand Designs already.

I haven't done a New Year's resolutions post. It would be the usual - read more, eat less, make changes I'm unlikely to follow through. I hope to do these things, but I think I need a better prod than the turning of the year to make them happen. I'll think about what might work and report back, okay?

So another older and an eventful year behind me. Last year started with medical matters when I underwent surgery for an overactive parathyroid gland; let's hope this year involves less hospital time and illness all round.

I didn't read as much as I would like, but I did more roleplaying than anytime since I left high school. In the process I've made friends, or become better friends, with some excellent trans-Atlantic folk.

Last year my son Oscar was born and much of the year has revolved around my children and my constant amazement at their growing up. Sleepness nights notwithstanding it's a brilliant, confusing, unmissable thing to be caught up in.

e.g. Rowan just stood up from her beadwork, the house of cards completed after some setbacks, and said 'now I'm going to sing Happy Birthday to you' and burst into song.

I'm smiling, in case you couldn't guess.

One of the best parts of my day is the little ritual Rowan and I share as I
leave the house. She climbs up on the back of the couch and sticks her head
under the curtain to watch me depart.

I spot her and act surprised. We smile and I say, in rusty sign language, 'I
love you'. She returns the sign, adding two upheld fingers to say 'I love
you too'.

Best part of the day? Quite possibly.

It can take a while to wake up.

I passed a poster for Brennan's bread this morning. It read

"Finely crafted Irish beards"

Having spent several minutes shortly beforehand with razor and shaving oil,
I felt an instant rapport with the craftspeople of Brennan's.

It's breads, dummy.

Sigh.

The sun is not long up. From the bathroom window I can see the sun's disc has just cleared the hilltops beyond the fields and is turning the whirl of clouds into a water-colourist's dream.

It's about 5.45. I've no idea why I'm awake enough to appreciate the sight.

[edited to correct time and missing text from e-mail.]