Birthday in quarantine

 

 

Today is my husband's 70th birthday, a biggie.

How will be celebrate? 

We can leave the flat to get our covid tests. If we pass, we will be released from quarantine where we've been for a week because we entered Switzerland from a virus danger zone in France.

It hasn't been a bad time. We've sat in the garden, admired the budding flowers, read, written, watched television, played with the dog and chatted.

However, I feel badly that this birthday has no real celebration. This is the man who arranged for me to visit the tomb of Eleanor of Aquitaine and Richard the Lionhearted for my 75th, fulfilling a long-term dream.

I can't give him a surprise party. I did that a few years ago and the surprise was he hadn't planned to be there. He did show up when I threatened him. In any case quarantine implies no guests.

I can't give him a Pauline Cake. The baker is an eight hour drive away.

My method of giving him Christmas and birthday gifts is based on things he's mentioned in casual conversation. The cuckoo clock is one. Pieces of art, hickory golf clubs, a William Tell carving have been other gifts. This year he didn't mention anything and even if he had unless it could be shipped I can't go into stores.

Although, I can't wrap anything, I can promise to continue to adore him. To encourage his love of golf.  To appreciate all the things he does for me. To share in things he talks about be it work, writing, politics, or plans for the day. To try and point out little things he might appreciate. To let him know, that I am there for him with every eon in my body.

And oh yes, and I promise not to complaint about dishes in the sink until my birthday in July, probably the hardest of all the things I've mentioned.