Now Playing: Sufjan Stevens, "Seven Swans," "All The Trees Of The Field Will Clap Their Hands."

So... birthday.

A lovely late autumn day--crisp, blue sky, made even better by the prospect of not having to work on grad school applications all day. Of course, my dad and Stephen had already eaten breakfast, so I sat down alone, until my mother came back from her early-morning walk. "You're not supposed to be up yet!" she exclaimed and set a big box of bagels down on the table. I ate half of one--really good, soft and sweet, with a chewy skin.

I had practically the whole gym to myself this morning, except for the pump class happening in the studio. So I was able to use the weight machines without feeling like a wimp for once, which was nice.

After a shower I settled down to do my quiet time. God blessed it especially today. Finding my feet again after a few weeks of drifting. I cried twice today: once when I was reading the prayer from The Valley--and once when I was cutting up onions this evening....

Philip, Laura, Keith, and Will arrived at about noon. Laura, Keith, and Will had flown in to Tulsa from Geneva, and Philip had driven them over in his car. He said that it had no acceleration and roared particularly loudly with all the extra weight. Laura bounced all over the house, let the guinea pig lick her face, admired her newly-painted bedroom, asked to bake bread.

We sat down to lunch. Leftovers. Conversation was lively, my mother asking Keith, Will, and Laura loads of questions about classes and professors. My mother was baking tomorrow's turkey, and the smell filled the house.

After lunch, we all somehow settled down in the living room. Philip was mucking about with his laptop again, and Keith sat in the dining room, talking to my mother. Will and Laura were "studying" for Bible, which meant pretending to read the Old Testament but actually arguing and shooting rubber bands at each other. Stephen worked on Latin homework and asked me grammatical questions. I replied to e-mails and Facebook posts on my laptop amid the mayhem.

At about three o'clock, my father came home early from work. I went upstairs for a wee bit. The upper floor was completely silent, cool, full of sunshine from the west-facing windows.

When I went back downstairs, I played around with my journal for awhile, and then I helped my mother with tea. Donned an apron and plunged in. Anna was slagging me off for liking to cut up vegetables recently, but you pretty much have to like cutting up vegetables in this household--especially when the main dish for the evening is curry with loads of vegetables in it (sorry, Emmaline :o). Cut up onions, red and green bell peppers, mushrooms, broccoli, and garlic. Laura stole slices of mushroom.

The boys went outside to play basketball. Laura sat at the dining room table and drank a big cup of black tea, which subsequently made her extremely hyper. She was quite proud of the fact that her hands were trembling. My mother was snipping the tips off of artichoke leaves, then carving the turkey, then heating meatballs in the oven, then frying tofu.

Pots of artichokes on the stove boiled out clouds and clouds of steam and their peculiar rich, sweet smell. I set the table. My mother made curry sauce--cinnamon, curry powder, turmeric, tomato sauce.

All eight of us sat down to eat at the long table. We ate artichokes and butter, then curry and rice, and grapefruit. Pretty much a perfect meal. At seven o'clock, the grandparents arrived, and we had ice cream and cake for dessert. I opened presents, and then everyone sat around the living room and talked.

At one end of the room, Keith, Will, my mother, and the grandmothers were talking about "eating everything but the intestines." At the other end, Laura was explaining playing the cello to my grandfather, and my dad and Philip were talking about computer programming.

The grandparents left at about half eight. We all settled down in the living room and had family worship. Then my mother sent Laura up to bed--she, Keith, and Will had been up since half two this morning! Philip practiced chords for his jazz piano lessons on the piano while Keith, Will, my mother, and I discussed the new Psalter. I made cards in a corner on the floor.

And now the house has suddenly become mysteriously quiet. I suspect that everyone is in bed--except maybe Philip and Keith across the hall. Sufjan Stevens is pretty much perfect for this moment: mellow, acoustic, upbeat. Owls are hooting outside.