He said he didn't get me anything for my birthday. He didn't want to buy things just to have things for me to tear wrapping paper off of. We agree having things isn't what we want. We don't want stuff you have to dust.

What he did give me was his time and attention. He always does that. He listened to me talk about places I like to go. He made a hotel reservation.

We drove up north and spent two nights near the water. We drove around to some vineyards. We ate wonderful meals and bought some things. He let me choose a restaurant for dinner. I liked that they served meals made from fresh local ingredients. They had a four page wine list and the menu changes every night. It's actually located in a former psychatric hosptial building. The waitress assured us though that it was the location of the root cellar.

We had nearly perfect weather for early May and off-season rates. We stayed next to a cute little breakfast place where the servings of corn beef hash were as big as my head. The waitress brought out samples of soup our first night so we could taste them. She asked if we wanted the cherry pie heated before the ice cream was added.

I know I had great birthdays as a kid, parties and all. I know my friends threw a surprise party in college for me. I know some dear ones got me through 33 with a slumber party and porn. That was the hardest birthday of all.

But this one seemed darned near perfect. I struggled to remember a better one. He took me away last year too, but somehow, this one seemed perfect.

He's gone now, and I'm another year older. I still get asked for ID when ordering drinks now and then. I feel pretty darned lucky and blessed and very loved and cherished. I still struggle to remember feeling better. Ever. I know I have, must have. I just can't remember it right now.