Donna is the one in our family who normally initiates birthday (or greeting) cards. She buys them at the card store (selecting the perfect card for the occasion), she addresses the envelope, fills out the card with a touching message, includes a check for special birthdays for kids, seals, stamps and sends it off. At most, she will ask me to sign the card or draw and color one of my artistic creations (see post of November 16, 2017).
There are, though, times when I will send off a birthday card on my own (cue the trumpets). When I do, the card doesn’t show a puppy dog. Or a mountain scene. Or offer a “Best wishes on this special birthday” message. I have a supply of “Happy 90th Birthday” “Happy 95th Birthday” and one or two “Happy 100th Birthday” cards stuffed in my drawer. They’ve been there forever. Along with some birthday cards that are (these days) not sendable. If y0u get my drift. . . . . .
I usually have no clue as to whose birthday is when. But if Donna reminds me that it’s someone’s birthday, I may groan. Go up to my desk. Rummage around a bit. And dash off one of the “Happy 90th Birthday” cards to one of my fraternity brothers or golfing buds (who have a sense of humor). In most cases, the “90th Birthday” business is these days fifteen to twenty years off from the actual birthday. If I want to add pizzazz to the card, I may draw a line through “90th” and scribble “Ooops – 91st”. . . . .