Today, to celebrate the birthdays of two presidents, the man who came up with evolution, and myself, I hosted a small brunch.

George Washington’s birthday was either February 22 or February 11, depending on how you count things (the calendar system changed within his lifetime, so the day of the year that was February 11 when he was born became February 22 by the time he died). For the four years I lived in Massachusetts, I had the uncomfortable idea that perhaps I should be celebrating my birthday on February sixth instead of the fifth, since I was born at 11:54pm in California, which puts me well into the sixth in eastern time. When the calendar changed around him, Washington started to celebrate his birthday on a different day. I continued to celebrate mine on the fifth because that was what my paperwork said. (Also, I really don’t like the number 6, and the idea of celebrating my birthday on 2/6 makes it even clearer that 6 is a tainting of 3 by 2. I’ll stick with nice, clean powers of three like 9 and 27, thanks.)

I had no idea until recently that not only do Lincoln and Darwin share a birthday, they were actually born on the same day, February 12, 1809. That has to be at least somewhat notable. I’m glad we at least got a holiday out of it, even if it’s a weird movable third-monday-of-the-month sort of thing.

The brunch itself was lovely, if small–I decided to hold it today on an impulse last Friday and sent out an invitation to a bunch of people who already had plans for the day. But I had a lovely visit with the three people who did come, and we ate scones and english cream and jam and bread and taleggio cheese and drank coffee and mimosas. The conversation was good, and after eating we went for a walk in Holly Park.

All in all, a good afternoon spent.