Sunday, February 12, 2017


As everyone knows, or at least those familiar with the work of Douglas Adams, the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything, is 42, And as Allen turned that magical age this year, it behoved me to celebrate it appropriately.

So I planned and I planned and I planned. I planned overnight childcare (thanks Mom Mom and Aunt Katherine). I planned shelter (which involved casting a fairly wide net to include the lovely Inn at Spring Manor, which while less convenient than a host of Bed & Breakfasts in Fredrick, MD, did not involve any blinding wallpaper or creepy Victorian dolls). I planned a 15 course meal (well, Volt planned that, and planned it even further ahead than I did as they booked our reservation for 2018 - which seems odd given that 43 isn't the answer to anything besides the closest prime number less than 45 - resulting in an uncomfortable wait in their lobby while they sorted that out).

What I did not plan was to have a terrible cold on Allen's special day. Or the severe blisters all over my mouth that resulted from my attempt to mitigate said cold by drinking boiling hot tea.

Still, we made it through all 15 courses (personal favorites: butternut squash macaron with foie gras; tuna poke; lamb tenderloin; and beef cheeks) and Allen pronounced his birthday a success (especially when I made it up to him the following weekend with a nap and a cherry pie)!

Happy birthday, Allen Fawcett! Now I just have to remember to cancel next year's reservation.

(To see all the pictures, click here.)

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