Happy Birthday

Today is your 65th birthday. Wow! How did that happen? We met when you were 27. I felt so grown-up dating a guy who was 27.

I have know you through most of the decades of your life. We have been married for 36 years, together for 37.

I still love your voice. Everytime I hear it on the phone, I melt. Really, I do.

You can still make me laugh, tears rolling down my face laugh, like no-one else has ever been able to do.

You and I have figured out the division of labour thing. You shop and cook. I do the clean-up and make the bed. We both ignore housework until the last possible minute and then we pitch in together. You do the kitchen and bathroom floors. I dust and clean the sinks and toilets. It has simply evolved that way. Easy peasy.

We enjoy each others company after these many years. We don't talk alot, but it is comfortable to sit in silence with you. And it is funny how often after miles of silence (when we are travelling) we will simultaneously start the same conversation.

You are an intuitive. You often know something about one of our children, or about an acquaintance before I do. You have a spidey sense about an up-coming phone call or situation. You have a spidey sense about me too. Sometimes it creeps me out, but I am glad I am on your radar.

When I met you you were a dark, curly-haired guy with a guitar. Now you are a silver, curly-haired guy with a guitar. You were a jeans and t-shirt guy then, and still are today. They only time I have seen you in a suit was the day we were married and our first anniversary. You are the most conservative, traditional, non-conformist I have ever met.

We still walk holding hands. I love the feel of my hand in yours. Sometimes when we are sitting at the table, at home or at a restaurant, you will reach out and rub my neck and shoulder. It is an intimate gesture of someone who has known you a long, long time.

We camp. Alot. My brother asked once what we do, or talk about, spending that much time, alone, together. It is simple. It is comfortable. It is companionship born of a deep love. And I love sitting around camp-fires with you. With the guitar, sometimes. Singing our old standbys. I wonder how many campfires we have sat beside. And how many more we have together.

We have both started to enjoy bird-watching. And wild-life watching on our trips to the Rockies, or Yellowstone. I hear you in my head " Oh hey!" when you have seen something. And then the look of delight on your face and the sound of delight in your voice. I love that about you too.

Your sister asked me once what I saw in you. It was an odd question from a sister. What I see in you is your love for me. I see myself in your eyes and I don't think there is anyone that is loved as well as I am.

You are the father of our children and although we don't always agree on the tack to take with our grown children, fundamentally we have always held the same values and imparted them to our children. The adult-grown child relationship is not always an easy one, but I see you trying so hard. And helping me try too.

You rub my feet when they are sore, bring me tylenol when my head hurts, and tea to soothe a stomach ache. You try to smooth the road ahead of me.

You give me space, but also a hug when it is needed. You have tried to understand my bouts of depression and I know that is hard for you at times.

You have been my love since I was just a young 20 year old. You are still my love as I head toward 58.

I know you worry. About your kids, about the economy, about our future.

But don't worry about this one thing. Your future includes me. And together we will figure it out. Probably beside a campfire.

Happy Birthday, my love. Happy Birthday.