My dad rolled over the big five-eight this week. That's 406 in Dog Years. We celebrated. Mama Stu made a Latvian birthday cake. It's dern tasty. Sweet bread with raisins and almonds. How can you go wrong?
He huffed and he puffed and he blew the five over. My Granny's face in this shot gave me a chuckle.
The Man.
Mom...and Dad.
An admiring look, I think.
His favorite chew-the-toothpick-after-dinner routine. My dad carries around spare ones in his shirt pockets for just such post-meal habits.
Old family friend, Ilgvars (Ill-Vars) came over too. He talked about many fascinating things (as he does) such as Latvia, the USSR, McCarthy, WWII, The Open Society and about 500 other things. Most over my head but very fascinating. He gave me a list of web sites/books to read, so I've got some homework.
Two bottled friends kept us company as long as they could. In the end they were reduced to mere purplish heeltaps in the cristals. Remnants of decanted jollity.
But all in all a right, enjoyable evening. Love you, Dad. Hope you like the chocolates.
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feliz cumpleaños young man! Erin
i love that pops of yours. and your mama as well.
I love the shot of your dad's hands. It's so great. But, I just love wrinkled old hands. They speak of experience.