
April 24, 2005
Happy happy birthday, Pyrola! .

I don’t suffer from aging paranoia, thankfully; a little past 30 is a not unusual age for that sort of thing. I’ll probably get there sooner or later.
All the same it’s a little disconcerting when children I have known all their lives are suddenly at an age I can remember being, myself. The summer I was 11, I spent in the US, and I remember that very well. Yesterday, Miranda turned 11. It doesn’t make me feel old, but I do realise that I’m probably a grown-up, whether I want to or not.
Happy yesterday, M.

Am old. Have received many cool and interesting things; for instance some really nice hand-made chocolate and The Merlin Conspiracy by D W Jones, from Johan, Hy Brasil by M Elphinstone, from Kicki, Not the End of the World, by K Atkinson, from CdM, and a cuddly bathrobe from my aunts. Oaktree sent me ButtonMen and my parents gave me a very nice picture.
And from Miranda, I got Olof!

And here’s a bunch of birthday ciliates who didn’t quite make it on time — but protozooans are notoriously bad at keeping track of dates.

(Image courtesy of Biomedia Associates,
www.ebiomedia.com)