Fred turned 50 earlier this month–on the Fourth of July, to be exact. The event was marked with a weekend of Fred-filled activities. These included lunch at the North Carolina Museum of Art  . . .

. . . with his adoring wife . . .

. . .  who tried to ignore the fact that he was wearing white tube socks with Italian shoes and carrying books in a battered lunch bag with a prawn on it.

Of course, there were fireworks at the Gwinnett Braves games–I mean, at the Bulls game where they played the Braves.

(Aside: It’s important to understand the role that the Braves play in Fred’s life. At about ten o’clock last night, I was reading in bed when I heard Fred cry out, “Oh God!” from the study, followed by a stream of worried muttering.

“What’s wrong?” I called out anxiously, concerned that he’d received news of a death in the family or that some tragedy had struck a friend.

“It’s 10 – 5 at the bottom of the ninth and the Braves have nearly wrapped it up but this stupid pitcher is throwing BALLS! JUST THROW A STRIKE, WILL YOU? For cryin’ out loud!”

I returned to my book.)

The weekend was capped off with dinner at Angus Barn, the Triangle’s go-to place for an old-fashioned steak dinner with a martini. Even Fred couldn’t finish the 15 ounce Porterhouse he ordered, so it ended up in a sandwich the next day. 

Fred is very excited about the new venture into cooking and food photography that this image represents. He chopped things and assembled them. Perhaps one day he’ll venture into turning on the stove.

But I’m glad he’s spent 5 of his 50 years with me, and I’m hoping for many more.