Kvetch+Kvell=Chai
Hey, it's his barfday. Birthday, birthday, that's what I meant. When you get to our age, you get muddled, befuddled, forgetful, and bloody nostalgic. It's his birthday. I beat him to it. Which is to say I reached the venerable age of 69 before he did. In December. So although he's caught up, he hasn't quite, since I'm still a month older than he is. Nah, nah.
We're both up plenty during the night. He gets up repeatedly because his prostate presses him to continually evacuate; no, micturate. And when he gets up so do I, often enough. This time I was able to say to him each time he got up "Happy Birthday". Sure, happy birthday. Well, we are happy, sure enough, and it is his birthday.
First thing he received for his birthday this year was a cold. This was a very special gift from our one and only grandchild. Not to hurt her feelings, neither of us chided the child, nor did we thank her. As colds go, there have been worse ones. Unless the worst is yet in store, which I sincerely hope not to be the case.
His birthday cake was baked yesterday. Since Friday night is our really special meal of the week, when he is served his special Sabbath meal, although we're secular, not religious. Chicken soup and rice, baked chicken, potatonik, roasted cauliflower, and of course, dessert. Often apple pie, one of his favourites, but often too chocolate cake, so this time he said he thought about having a white cake - with lemon filling, so how about that? And that's just what he got, a four-layer white cake filled with lemon sauce, topped with butter-cream icing, sprinkled with toasted coconut. Our daughter and granddaughter took home half of the cake on Friday, but that's only practical for how much cake could we possibly eat between us?
In the morning we lay abed, talking, listening first to the news, then music, classical music. How different might our lives have been, he said, if we hadn't moved, stayed in a really large city, Toronto? Would then our children have all remained there? Would we then be surrounded by our children, by hordes of grandchildren? Why think of such things? Well, one does, particularly the older one becomes.
What can one give someone who has everything? Not much, I guess. Oh no, that's not right. There's never enough love, and love is always on offer, always acceptable, always needed. So that's what I've given him, will continue to lavish upon him and only because he deserves it.
posted by Pieface @ Saturday, February 04, 2006
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