Yesterday was Sarah's birthday and she wanted to spend the day in Astoria, a wind-swept harbor town overlooking the sea. Folks here used to be hippies and now own antique stores. On our drive toward the coast we passed a hand-lettered sign advertising "ROCKS! and minerals for SalE". We pulled in and down a long driveway toward a beaten up house surrounded by long tables and plastic bins. A man looking like an older Zach Galifianakis was waiting for us. In the tree, and extremely excited to see us, was Billy the Macaw. He loves women. And so he broke out his best moves to impress us. Rapidly pumping his breast up and down while fluffing his feathers. Gyrating his head around and around on an outstretched neck. Screaming and nuzziling and prancing up and down our arms. I spent most of the time with Billy on my shoulder, with me mimicking his sounds and falling under his spell. Sarah actually bought some rocks. After a day in Astoria where we picnicked and shopped and got a bit tipsy at dinner, we drove home to meet friends for a dessert feast. There was an entire table filled with gluten-free pies and slender bottles of whiskey, a rad play-list generating pockets of dancing, and many birthday hugs and wishes for our dear girl. She's 29. What a year. The beginning and the end of everything. We love you Sarah!

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