That was Levon three years ago today when he was just a few hours old. Which of course means that it's his birthday. If you would like to read about the day he was born you can go here.
I don't know about you but there is nothing I love more than a good birth story and Levon's is a fine one. It's one of Jessie's birth stories, too, of course, and I've said it before and I'll say it again- she is a birthing goddess. As is Lily.
I've been thinking about Levon's birthday for days. I have a present for him in the closet that I bought last week. Yet somehow, this morning, it completely slipped my mind. I went on a fine walk and had the glorious experience of taking down two Trump signs. One was a sign stuck into the ground on a spit of what I think is county land, definitely not in someone's yard. So I pulled it up and laid it down. The other one I pulled from the power pole in front of Mr. Lawrence's old store that someone had stapled up there. I was on my way to the post office, filled with piss and vinegar and endorphins, probably, and I just reached up on my tippy toes and snatched that thing down and threw it in a dumpster by the PO. Fuck that shit. That power pole doesn't belong to the guy who put it up there any more than it belongs to me and it's done and it's over, no matter what Donald Trump and his minions say and that is fucking THAT!
But suddenly, just as I was approaching home again, I remembered. Levon's birthday! I called his mama and it sounded like they were having a fine time. They were about to take a drive to see if they could find some heavy machinery at work because what could possibly make Levon happier? I talked to the birthday boy and said, "Happy birthday, Levon!" and he said, "Happy birthday!"
Here are a few pictures.
I did a little weeding in the garden. Here is what the most micro of micro celery looks like.