It's the curse of all that Northern European blood that I have stockpiled in my body, I suppose.
Many years later, before moving from Boston, I picked up a souvenir t-shirt in about the same color. And today, once again, I am the color (if not the consistency) of Mom's favorite comfort food that goes well with grilled cheese.
All of that is a roundabout way of saying that I had my annual birthday barbecue lawn party yesterday, and it was a fine time. Nobody was injured (we'll leave the sad case of the idiot who buys sunblock but doesn't wear it out of that count), and much food was grilled, many beverages were consumed, and I believe that I lost every game that I played outdoors. But really, as long as I get friends together in my backyard, it's a good day.
Today, I refused to get out of bed until I had finished the book I was reading (Vertical Burn, by Earl Emerson), so it was around 1:30 when I finally got outside, and the sun was bright to the point of hostility. So I took down the volleyball set (I spent maybe 6 hours of mowing and remowing and removing clippings and filling dangerous holes all for 20 minutes of casually tossing the ball over the net and running into the neighbor's yard to retrieve said ball) and retreated back indoors.
Yep, good times. Maybe I'll have to have another party this summer. Shame to let a perfectly good bocce set lay idle until my next birthday.