Here in central Pennsylvania, Ginger has been promising me fried chicken for my birthday since a month ago. Seeing how I've apparently made my sentiments about birthdays clear, this is what I found waiting for me when I woke up:

So Ginger says that since I'm turning 50, we're allowed to celebrate the birthday tonight. Yay party! To the left, that would be John Deere gummies, a whoopie pie, and a 6-pack of birch beer, my new favorite soda. I'm a simple girl.
Back story on Ginger -- we met during her Kenyon College days late 1998, and I say it like that because she left the school after a freshman semester to take some time off. She came back to try it out again sophomore year and decided she still hated it and left again. Somewhere in between all of that we became friends and stayed friends although neither of us remember when or how it all started. We do have some funny stories though, and I often call her the funniest person I know. She's the only one who came to visit me in Nicaragua, and one of the few people who took me up on the offer to visit Hawaii...twice. I'm finally repaying her the visit, and the family treats me to this homemade birthday dinner:
Chicken liver pate with pickled green tomatoes, twice brined fried buttermilk chicken, double macaroni and cheese, sweet amish corn, fresh shelled peas, sour cherry pie with pecan streusal, and peach custard made with goat's milk and coconut cream. Crazy, I know, but the best part about that chicken is that it's fried in bacon fat, butter, AND lard. Just so you know that we're serious here. It was goooood fried chicken.
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