Linda DavickI hadn't been outside for seven days except to walk to and from the car. This evening I escaped. I'm happy to report that the ocean was still there, and I took this photo to prove it. The sky was pink for Mom's birthday.
Paul, the chef at the Terrace, made a big cake and wrote Happy Birthday Mom on top. He told me he was going to take it to Happy Hour. I said, "I'm sorry to say that Mom doesn't go to Happy Hour!" He insisted that all her friends from the Happy Table went to Happy Hour, and that they would get her down there one way or another. I talked to Mom on the phone later and asked if she had gone to Happy Hour.
-Yes, I didn't want to miss my own cake.
-I told Paul that you didn't go, but he really wanted to have the cake then and there.
-Oh yes. Our chef is very strict.
-What do you mean?
-For example. You know we have these monthly food committee meetings. Sometimes people ask for desserts without sugar. He insists that a dessert is not a dessert without sugar. What day is this? Monday?
-Yes.
-I'm happy for every moment of clarity.
-Me, too, Mom!
