Happy birthday to my husband, Basil — 57 years young today.
This is how he looked in 1957:
Readers of this blog know he is a gentle soul, a good sport and basically a simple guy.
You should know he willingly allows me to assail him in this blog, and always with a smile on his face. That alone makes him a keeper, but there is more:
He has a magical ability to make me smile even when I don’t want to. His sense of humor is offbeat, but engaging. Plus, he is generous, rarely angry, never holds a grudge and has enough other winning traits that I can mostly overlook all the ingrained habits that drive me mad. 😉
I am lucky to have him and Catherine is lucky he’s her dad.
He has traditions for most everything, but I must say, I have no idea how we are celebrating today. He has not given us a clue.
As is his cross to bear, having been born so close to Thanksgiving, we will stick a candle in yesterday’s apple pie (just one; 57 might start a fire), but I don’t know what he has in mind for dinner.
All he said last night is, “No more turkey.”