A Birthday Tale

He says he's caught up with me. Not quite; I'll always remain a month older than him. But we are indeed now 72 years of age. A matter of fact that quietly amazes us. We've been married for 53 years, and that's a long time. Although we've been together for 57 years. We were children when we met, only fourteen, although we thought of ourselves as being so mature, so ready for the adventure of life.

We gift one another every day of our lives. No need, therefore, to present one another, at this juncture, with a gift demonstrative of appreciation of a birthday anniversary. Every day is special, and each day brings a new adventure of one kind or another. This day no different in that respect, than the many that have preceded it. Our quotidian pleasures bespeak the rhythm of our lives.

Tenderness toward one another, interspersed inevitably with the occasional burst of irritation lend texture, complexity, interest to the proceedings. Conversations there are many, and reminiscences mostly of those events that gave us great pleasure. The pain, whatever of it that surfaced in our lives together, cannot be found; we mine for comfort and ease, not misery.

Each day is endowed with its especial profit to our busy hands and minds. Today he was able to repair one of his antique clocks, using the replacement parts he had ordered through the Internet from a company specializing in such arcane products. We read the newspapers silently over a prolonged breakfast, sharing bits of news, deploring or applauding, as was appropriate.

Nature, as though in recognition of the signal anniversary this day represents, presented us with a clear blue sky; bright sun. Too cold, however, to melt any of the snow piled up outside the house. And the wind, in this cold, would make it seem even colder; a wind-chill factor of minus-23. But no fresh snow, for him to shovel, this day.

I cleaned up the kitchen, and he tea-towelled the dishes; we now use the dishwasher less and less frequently. I don't ask him to help, he insists; more time together, he says. Then I cleaned up the bathrooms, a twice-weekly necessity. Transcribed a piece of short fiction written decades earlier onto my literary blog. And we prepared for our daily ravine walk.

For us, down-filled jackets, heavy mitts, head coverings. For our little dogs, each a winter jacket and under those, warm little sweaters. Much to their dismay the cold this day requires that they also wear boots to protect their tender pads. These represent the third design I've produced, and the best yet; thick fleece leggings with leather pads and fastened with Velcro.

Our hour's foray into the wooded ravine, with its hills and valleys is needed exercise for our little dogs, and for us as well. We need the cool, clear and fresh air, the challenge for our moving parts. There are still heavy clumps of snow remaining on many of the trees, although we haven't had snow in three days. We see two red squirrels, no birds this day, although the Pileated woodpecker has left his mark.

Later, I cook rice and steam lean ground beef for dinner for our little dogs; the toy poodle is experiencing diarrhea, and this bland diet will help. As for us, his favourite winter dinner; chicken fricassee. Comprised of chicken giblets, two small drumsticks, and meatballs, done in a stew of jalapeno pepper, garlic, onion, chicken soup.

Rice, too, but the sticky Asian variety, not the long-grain prepared for the dogs. And Frenched yellow beans. For dessert, a coulis of soft frozen berries - raspberries, blackberries and blueberries, wrapped in puff pastry and baked to a nice flaky, fragrant crisp.