Home truths

The lure of the first clear day in weeks and a picnic in the botanical gardens to celebrate Quinn aging proved irresistible, and my plans for a disciplined and intensely productive weekend danced away on a winter sunbeam. It was worth the stress that will ensue at 3AM in a couple of nights as I frantically try to meet my Tuesday morning deadlines.

It also reminded me of two things that only other children of Kathmandu in the 90s know: that there is no such thing as a ‘birthday’ – it’s always a ‘happy birthday’, as in, “oh, and when is your happy birthday?”; and that sandwiches and chips are a snack – a real picnic involves six pounds of aloo achar and the slaughtering of a goat.

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