[A smiling repeat from June 28, 2018] Donna is the one in our family who handles the birthday or greeting cards. She buys them at the local card store (selecting the perfect card for the occasion). She addresses the envelope and fills out the card with a touching message. She seals the envelope, puts on a stamp 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).
Once in a while, 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. Along with some birthday cards that are (these days) not sendable. If you 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 ten to fifteen years off from the actual number. If I want to add pizzazz to the card, I may draw a line through “90th” and scribble “Ooops – 91st”. . . . .