was a great success. My father's young visitor arrived with her grandparents in tow just as I was leaving.
"Today, I will only count marbles," she announced to me as she walked in the door, "Oh are you going out?"
"Yes, I am."
"Where are you going?"
"To a birthday party."
"I like parties. I think we will have a party here."
"That sounds like a good idea. The bears are waiting."
"They have to have something to eat."
"Oh yes. Look on the table. There's milk too and maybe cups of tea. Will that do?"
"I should think possibly."
The friend taking me to the birthday lunch arrived at that point and I left her to the joys of entertaining three "really old" people to morning tea. (I am just "old" according to her!)
The birthday lunch I went to was a 70th and it was a lovely occasion. There were just eight of us present as my friend had not wanted a fuss.
It was held at a plant nursery in the foothills on the far side of the city. The property was once the "country residence" of an early settler family. It now belongs to the great-great grandchildren. What was once country is now outer suburbia but they have retained a considerable area of land and turned it into a nursery or, more accurately, a garden which sells plants and has a small restaurant, part of the old house, attached. It is beautifully landscaped and cared for. Much of it is just like strolling through a well kept garden.
Lunch was lovely. The group was small enough for us all to be able to talk to each other. The food was simple and nicely served. The service was good. We sat under the verandah and looked at part of the garden. Later we wandered through the garden and all of us succumbed to plants of some sort. (I bought two tomato plants for my father.)
On my arrival home I discovered that three biscuits with "fairy dust" had been consumed by my father's young visitor, another plain biscuit, two strawberries (from the garden) and two "dinasour" glasses of milk. I doubt she wanted to eat any lunch. Once in a while I am also sure that does not matter. A good time was apparently had by all. The remaining biscuits with the "fairy dust" were taken home.
I brought home three small pieces of food too. The restaurant thoughtfully supplies small paper bags for that express purpose. It meant my father could taste some of the bite size morsels that made up the plates put before us.
The two events were quite different and yet very similar. I would like to think that we never grow out of occasions which require the use of "fairy dust".