Yesterday was my birthday— I didn’t make any plans as money is tighter than usual with my leave from work and last night was the teenager’s senior prom.

So first the pre-prom photos:

The sky bestowed upon us a thunderstorm, a few booms, the rain itself vacillating between a steady but manageable rate and a deluge.

Our family tradition dictates that every photo occur in from of the rose bush and neighborhood tradition requires a pose in front of Little Dog Sobaka’s rhododendron. But the weather had other plans.

We did, however, improvise.

Joan, who looked even smaller beside the platform-stiletto-clad teenager in red, visited us to enjoy cake (as she has a May birthday too) and to fulfill the teenager’s wish to have her take the official photos.

This is one.

The teenager wanted a mother-daughter shot.

The teenager had ordered a custom dress for prom but it didn’t arrive in time. Instead, she wore a dress that had languished in the back of my closet (never worn) for at least a decade. The dry cleaner had ruined the rhinestone strap so she had her grandmother replace it with black sequins to match the glittery shoes she found in a thrift store years ago.

Our regular nail tech had retired from the industry in deference to professional employment, but the teenager approached her about maybe doing them one last time.

Which the response was yes, and she was kind enough to give the teenager a full set of acrylics and a gel mani on her patio.

The local newspaper had shots posted before the kids even got home.

I spent the evening eating chocolate cake, dabbling in creative writing, responding to birthday wishes (which did not include any from my mother, nor has she responded to any of my texts since May 10), reading and testing new-to-me television programs like Hulu’s Candy and Lifetime’s Mary Kills People.

And I washed it all down with a Fresca. How is that for a middle-aged party of one-plus-dog.

This morning, the start of my new year on planet Earth included a trip to Apex Training.

I have had the pleasure of living in the same neighborhood for almost 20 years, and most of my neighbors have been here for that 20 years.

One of my neighbors exited his house as I left my door at 9:30 a.m. and we had a lovely chat about not falling down, my ruptured tendon and my gym.

The neighbor concluded the conversation by saying “it must be working” as I looked “stronger” but I think he meant healthier— which made me think…

Although I have not lost weight and I have not lost fat or inches, I have gained strength and range of motion. I did a 48 second plank as my baseline today, so I look forward to future growth. And despite my hand injury, I was nailing dumbbell shoulder rows at 25 pounds.

My goals are doable if I get my stress and binge eating under control.