Amidst the s-storm that has become a large part of the lives of my family and me, I had a birthday. For my 42nd year, and the general upheaveal, it seemed too appropriate to embrace the directive from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxay, "Don't Panic." Forty-two, the meaning of life, the universe, and everything. (It also happens to be the number of staples that were put into my head following my craniotomy in 2010.)

I am not one to spend a weekend observing my birthday, but that is what happened. On Friday, my parents gave me pre-birthday gifts, including a towel (because "A towel is just about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can carry") and kitchen gadgets. John arrived in time for Friday dinner. Then on Saturday, we cooked breakfast together. (This is something distance and his galley kitchen makes very challenging.) My parents prepared for Henri and urged John and me to spend more time together. Between a nap and family coffee, John and I helped move porch furniture away from potential sideways rain. Then it was off to dinner with the family.

Since my hair has thinned massively while on MEKinist, the family joined me in wearing wigs. (Sadly, we forgot to take a picture of all of us.) John drove back to MA after dinner, so he wasn't trapped in CT and missing work on Monday. Then on Sunday, we brunched and had birthday cake

It was a very good weekend and one that will be remembered for a long time. It will certainly help carry me through the more difficult days of radiation.