Dear 29 Candles on a Raspberry Trifle,

You looked like you were about to burn the house down. "There's a lot more than 29 on there, right?" I asked my friends as they carried you out of the kitchen.

"Nope!" one said gleefully. (He's 24. Just wait a few years, buddy.)

It was like a scene out of a chick flick. You know the one. Where the single woman with a high-stress job and a cat stares her years in the face while Stevie Nicks sings Landslide soulfully in the background.

And yet, as I blew out your flames reflected like a conflagration in my eyes (no bifocals yet, thankyouverymuch), I couldn't think of anything to wish for. Surrounded by dear friends and fully aware of tons more friends all around the world wishing me well, with a hand-made trifle made with raspberries from my friend's own garden, on a front porch in autumn-like weather without the imminent threat of winter, I could only hope the next 29 years are full of such comfort and contentment as I've heretofore experienced.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear 2012,

Please don't suck.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear 2011,

Congratulations. Despite an improved last few weeks, as a year you managed to be almost as bad as 2008. Good riddance. Maybe the world really will end in 2012 and free us all.

Hugs & kisses,
B