21

Someone had a 21st birthday yesterday. Birthdays have a knack of making one wander down memory lane. This year, it's particularly poignant, as it's such a milestone year and Tat is so very far away.

Tonight, Jurgis was going through some photos. He called my attention to one. "This was my 21st!"


Henrique, his brother (far left), had baked the cake. The three men lived a bachelor existence. The cake was a sweet idea, but I suspect it was a bit of a challenge on the teeth.

21 red roses


Yes, I know there aren't 21. The photo is illustrative
There are no photos of my 21st, though the evening was an interesting one, to be sure. We left Ceinwen, then 3 months old, with our neighbour, Margaret. Jurgis told me to dress up. I made myself a Russian-style red dress. I loved that dress, but only ever wore it that once that I can remember. He took me to the Ritz Hotel's revolving restaurant in Cape Town. I found some photos online. It is just as I remembered it... the piano... the view of Cape Town at night.



 
The ambience was lovely. Not too long into the evening, I was presented with my massive bouquet of red roses. The pianist played 'our song', which was, at the time, "Time in a bottle" by Jim Croce. Yes, it was long ago! The food was French and tasty, except that what we thought was the starter turned out to be the main course. It was one of those places where you get one baby carrot, artistically sliced into a fan shape, two asparagus spears, a broccoli floret and your sliver of meat of choice drowned in gravy. I had sole. It was tasty. We had our dessert, which I don't remember at all. I think I was too hungry. It had been a long day. I suspect that lunch had been a very long time ago, as I'd spent the afternoon flapping over babysitting arrangements - first time mom leaving baby for the first time.

Jurgis is very much a steak and potatoes guy, so we left the fancy food in search of something more substantial and ended up at an after-theatre cafe, scarfing cake and coffee before heading home, tired and slightly less starved than when we set out. 


This is the last photo that was taken of me before my 21st. Ceinwen was all of 5 days old. I had been home from the hospital for a day when Jurgis' dad arrived on an unannounced visit. I was 'thrilled' (not). He was one of those men who believed that the man works outside of the home and shouldn't work at home at all. He let us know in no uncertain terms that finding his son mowing the lawn was unacceptable and that it was my job to do so. I was, at the time, in bed having had a caesarian a few days before. Oh that visit! It reminds me of another blog I've been meaning to write... on the excellence of my housekeeping skills at the time! ; )