Birthday prime rib

Eastside Road, December 1, 2010—

TO SAN FRANCISCO TODAY for another birthday party: a friend has reached my own age:

Andrew at seventy-five

Proud December Orion,
High and clear, like Arion
Thanks to the gods still alive

I send sevens on your day
Knowing they edge toward your work
While making little mark.

You, dear Andrew, odd at play
And pressed, must still smile today.
Let these numbers have their say,

Proud December Arion,
Riding on your dolphin’s back,
Three fourths the circuit well run,

May we enjoy, prosper, thrive
Through another twenty-five!*

The party was a festive affair, black-tie, Martinis before dinner, then, six eight to a table, six or eight tables, we enjoyed:

Salad with Green Goddess Dressing
Roasted New York beefsteak
Mashed Potatoes and Parsnips
Green beans

Birthday cake

and a fine time was had by all.

Riesling; Ridge Zinfandel

   *Andrew's own poem was of course much better than this: but then, unlike me, Andrew's a poet.