My blushing, young bride turns a year better, today. I slipped a birthday card into her lunch bag, last night, before I headed to dreamland. It’s right there between the sandwich, fruit and yogurt I packed for her. Hope she doesn’t eat it before reading it. She needs to save room for her birthday dinner tonight — homemade cioppino.
Yes, we are all getting older here in the Fat Cave. In 10 days, I will celebrate turning double-nickels — fifty-five. “I can’t drive 55!” Thanks, Sammy.
This year, I’m hoping that, unlike prior years, I am getting better, not just older. As I arrived at this same date last year, I was racing up toward 300 pounds. I nearly got there before I stopped. A year and 50 pounds later, I am racing down toward 200 pounds — 225 by this year’s end.
It’s never too late to teach an old dog new tricks. And this old dog is eager to learn!