“The RoseBouquet”

Dad does not remember birthdays, nor does he know how to plan surprises, or even to shop for gifts. I’ve long ago come to terms with that, and it no longer bothers me. It’s not necessarily that he wouldn’t want to, he just doesn’t know how.

Past experiences have taught me that if I want any guests or a special meal on my birthday, I’ll have to organize it myself. It would have been easy to shrug and say, “I’m content to huddle by the computer and write on my next novel. That’s enough fun for me.” (It would’ve been good enough, as I’ve been giving some half days to that novel of late, and feel like I’m eating ice cream in secret)!

However, we have some friends who love any excuse to come over for a meal, and I knew my brother Tom would gladly come, if I arranged a ride for him, so I invited our friends, Helen and Wendell, and they agreed to bring Tom too, for Sunday supper.

I also invited Dad’s buddy, Jona, when he phoned, as he often complains about how lonely his Sundays are. I didn’t tell him it was for my birthday though, as he’d be all embarrassed and refuse to come since he had no time to get a gift or card.

I gave Dad time over Sunday breakfast to remember and wish me a happy birthday. It didn’t happen. When we got home from church I asked if he’d dig up a large hand full of carrots, not a big bucket full as he has sometimes, just a large handful for our supper guests.

I was busy in the kitchen getting us a light fruit lunch ready, and preparing the chicken for the crock to cook out in the garage all afternoon, when Dad comes in with just a small handful of baby carrots. Maybe enough for the tossed salad.

“Dad, do you know what day this is?” I asked him point blank.

Dumbly he looked down at his suit. A clear give-away it was Sunday. He had no idea other than the day of the week.

So I reminded him it was my birthday and I’d been talking about our guests coming since the day before. He shrugged sheepishly and went out to dig up more carrots.

I worked until 2 pm at various dishes and put them in the fridge, or in the case of the carrots, set them in the double boiler ready to cook at 5 pm. Then I went down to my oldest computer, and had a blessed two hours of working on my novel. My personal treat to myself!

By 5 pm I was up in the kitchen again, cheerfully working at setting a nice banquet spread on the enlarged table, and feeling quite content and glad to be alive and in my present circumstances. God is good to me. All the time!

Our guests enjoyed the meal, Helen helped with the dishes, and afterwards, since Wendell and Helen had had some car trouble, the men went out to work on that. Tom has been a garage mechanic in the past, and suggested they go to the carwash sort of across the street, where he forced a huge collection of dead bugs out of the rad with a jet of water. Dad, who has all kinds of odds and ends in his workshop, was able to help them out with a screen for their radiator.

I took Helen for a little tour of our garden and filled up some bags with lettuce, dill and yellow daisies for her to take home.

Very soon we’ll start giving away zucchini and cucs to visitors!