Even numbers

On Saturday, I celebrated another birthday. Back to even numbers again.

I am surprised at how comfortable I am being in my forties. In fact, I would say I love being in my forties!

I am content and grateful for my life.

I have people to love, and who love me.

I grew up to be what I always wanted to be - a Mom. I have four children who teach me how to love and how to forgive. It is the joy of my life to watch them grow into the people I hoped they would become. They share. They eat vegetables; they say their sorry when they need to. They try to do their best in all they do, and more importantly, they love each other.

I am glad to say that my closest friends are still my parents and my siblings.

And my husband is my best friend.

I am still learning.

I am still growing.

I am still trying.

To celebrate, my family took me out for dinner. Since it was my birthday, they let me choose the food. Well, bien sûr, (of course), I chose french. We all got dressed up and went to the nice, french restaurant I found off the internet.

It was a small bistro north of Denver. It was rated four and a half possible stars out of five. The Retro Bistro. Ahhhh . . .(turn your speakers up when you click on the link!) and you can just imagine my excitement. A little bistro - french food - me needing to translate for my family - laughing with the french owners at how beautifully and simply french everything was . . .

Okay, yeah, I was dreaming. I guess this is what happens when you can't afford to travel . . .

I did mention that said bistro was located "just north" of Denver. Per the directions from my french proprietor, who said in his heavy french accent that the drive would not be a great distance (imagine the accent). Well, Google maps translated that short drive roughly into 45 minutes north of Denver. I think I forgot we live 20 minutes southwest of Denver, but because of my excitement, Daren and the kids graciously consented and off we went.

All the way there, I am envisioning the french I would speak. I hardly notice the drive.

Pretty soon, as we are making our way off the obscure exit and driving another "short" five miles down a completely, deserted country road in the middle of nowhere to find our french restaurant, Daren asks me if he doesn't think we are overdressed. "Shauna," he says, "this is Wrangler country!"

Two more turns - from one state highway onto a route something or other, and voila . . .

There, in the distance, is my french bistro. . .

Um.....Right next to the ACE Hardware,

Across from the railroad tracks,

And next to the town grainery,

With completely empty parking,

And a big whaft of cow manure in the air . . .

is a little slice of france.

It was lovely.

And even though it didn't turn out exactly as I had envisioned; (ie: no translation was necessary, our chef was from Longmont and the waitstaff, definately also not french, could not keep our glasses full of water despite the empty dining room . . .)

it was perfect!
Bon Appétit!