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Saturday, October 6, 2018

Family

For Mum's 70th we had a couple of exciting things planned. A trip to TKMaxx the department store of quality goods reduced to cheap prices where I purchased an eight dollar spatula. It has a sturdy wooden handle and a shiny silver flipping bit and is a delightful addition to my second drawer down.

We got to the Bootleg Beatles at the Crown Casino, after eating delicious food in the French Bistro and watching my big brother tip the chef fifty dollars. I preferred the waitress, French accented and caring and the bringer of such delicious food to us waiting with love. I'm about eighty percent sure the man at the table next to us was the singer in a cover band whom I slept with 20 years ago but he's older and fatter and so am I so neither of us say anything. I think about mentioning it to Mum and Biz but don't. God love me.

We are in the younger spectrum of the crowd at the Bootleg Beatles but there is a lovely sense of anticipation in the air rendering everyone at least ten years younger. The band walks out on stage - Ringo, John, George and Paul, looking just as they did in the early sixties. They play well, sound great - similar to the real thing and banter in lovely Liverpoolian accents between songs.
There is a guy bouncing up and down on his seat - it's delightful to watch and I think some of us wish we could join in. At the halfway point we gather outside around a heater and an impromptu rendition of Hey Jude starts up with a glorious Na, Na, Na, NaNaNaNa chorus line. There is a happy buzz in the air.

Mums actual birthday is on Sunday and we are booked in for lunch at Heston Blumenthal's Restaurant. It's a five course set menu and is extravagant and incredible and way beyond anything I'm ever likely to experience again. My big brother Biz paid for the entire lunch, he is a generous and kind man and as I get older more and more I love his company, the comfort of him. Sadly my joke about the Gentleman's Relish on the entrée wasn't appreciated to it's full capacity but I may have been one glass of bubbles in by then.

My Mum has taught us, mostly by example, what it is to be kind. To think she is 70, wiser and more beautiful as the days pass. I am proud to be her daughter, happy to have known her kindness, her care, her love. Happy to know they live on in us, her children.
It's a lovely weekend, despite my feeling like the poor cousin from the south. The only meal I pay for is our Uber Eats on the Friday night - it's the least and the best I can do. I don't envision ever having much money again, feel nervous when we speak of upcoming holidays knowing that I need to get my shit together if I'm to afford any of the adventures ahead.
I've been studying up on life goals and how to set them. I'm aware getting my shit together does not constitute a specific and measurable goal, but I'm too tired to dig any deeper. For now I just sit in the safety of family, the knowledge that they love me, they've got me, they care. I am blessed.

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