Y’all might wish to go over to Quilly’s place today (24 April 2009) and wish her a Happy Birthday. Might distract her from blowing her nose, looking out the window at an unseasonably gray Hawai‘ian day, and channelling prehistoric Viking weather forecasters.

Though she would probably prefer pointers to anti-allergy medications that actually work. So that she can actually wear the lei that she’s been receiving all this week without her having to chase her nose all over town.

This anniversary of the Quill’s entry onto this spherical stage (and her barely-averted fast exit from it) is one of those credit-crisis ones. You know, the ones with the big fat “owe” at the end? No, you’ll have to figure out that bit of information for yourselves, unless Q should choose to do it for you. A colleague of hers did say, however, that whatever it is “is the new 30″.

I’m off to find some hypoallergenic flowers.

Happy Birthday, love.

Happy

Birthday,

OC!

I love you!

She went to the airport to pick him up.  He’d been away for a week at a conference.  He returned unscathed.  His luggage did not return at all.  After questions and explanations, and more questions and report filing and more questions and more report filing, they left the airport.

He, driving out of the airport parking garage:  “Where would you like to go to eat?”

She: “I will let you choose.  You are the one who just subjected your tummy to a six hour flight and a time change.  I am fine and can eat just about anything.”

He: “How about Island Burger?”

She:  “Sure.  Fine with me.”  But she wonders why he chose there when it is in the wrong direction from home.  “Are you wanting to stop at your office?”

He:  “Not really.  I’d like to get some rest first.”

She: “Well, then why Island Burger?  Don’t tell me that you spent a whole week in SF longing to come home to your favorite burger shop?”

He:  “No.  I had some good food in SF.  We didn’t go anywhere really memorable, but I had no reason to complain.  I’m just in the mood for plain food.  Island Burger sounds like what my stomach can handle.”

She: “Then you’re going the wrong way.”

He, looking around, “Wha-?  Huh?  Wha-?”

She:  “We need to go back to the airport.”

He, obviously confused, “Why?!”

She, patiently:  “Because, Honey.  You said you wanted plane food.  The only place I know to get that is at the airport.”

He nods his head and taps his fingers on the steering wheel (yes, while he’s driving).

She sees a smile fight through his defenses and curve his lips.  She snuggles close, rubs her cheek on his shoulder and queries, “Did you miss me, Honey?”

Finally, He laughs.

Those of you who have been following this blog for awhile might remember April 2007, when He had just a little bit of trouble with this celebration.

Firstly, he managed to get Quilly’s birthday proclaimed all over Doug’s site. One day too soon. Then, he announced it at his own place (this blog didn’t exist yet), likewise a day too soon, mainly because he knew he’d be spending the real day in planes, trains and automobiles. Only to cover the birthday post with another one a few hours later.

Yeah, He was pretty clueless. But surely you know that by now. He certainly does. She’s sitting beside him now, helping him remember. Frequently. Men!

He’s certainly not clueless enough to mention her age. But both He and She are fond of Bill Cosby, and are in the process of (re)collecting most of his recordings of standup comedy. Including the one with the big number on it.

[ducks]

He was going to say she’s a saint, what with her church work, and her daily efforts with the pre-K kids here on the less-than-well-to-do side of O‘ahu, and her blogging stuff, including all the camera work she’s been doing lately. Not to mention putting up with his errors of omission and commission. But that gives her no right to cannonize him! No, wait, that’s Canon-ize. Put that thing down!

Would you please help me wish beautiful Quilldancer a happy birthday, by leaving a comment here or on her site, or both?

Happy birthday, love.

She wakes happy and cheerful and bright and chattery.

He wakes yeowly and growly and snarling at all things joyful.

She chirps at him brightly.

He mumbles and growls.

She gets even more cheerful and bright and fills the room with silliness.

He mumbles, growls and gives her that look.

She calms him with a gentle touch, a kiss on the forehead and, finally, a hug. Then she points at the bed and says, “Would you please get back in there for a moment and then climb out on the other side?”

His brows draw together. Storm clouds gather. Then he looks into her sparkling, laughter-filled eyes and almost smiles. He gives her a gentle squeeze and kisses her cheek. After, his heavy footed silence continues, but the storm clouds over his head dissipate. Soon he will morph back into the charming Amoeba she loves.

It’s been over a year since O’Ceallaigh first showed up at my door with his heart in his hand. There’s been a few changes since then. For instance, nowadays when he shows up at the door, his hands are usually full of musical equipment and he needs help turning the knob. Of course, that is a minor change. His first visit also featured the trumpet. From the beginning it has been my rival for his affections. We have learned to tolerate each other.

Lately there has been another, more subtle change. We still sit on the couch side-by-side. We still hold hands. We still exchange kisses and soft touches as we pass by each other, but –

I asked him if he was ready for his nightly ice cream. He said he was, then he ordered a cup of tea as well. Occasionally, when I tell him what the dinner menu is, he requests substitutions. At such times I often suggest he call a waitress. Other times I tell him we are calling a waitress because I don’t feel like cooking.

We also make decisions for each other. I have been known to critique his apparel and send him to change. He has done the same to me. He tells me when to carry an umbrella and scolds me for forgetting my (fill-in-the-blank). He has learned to tolerate my camera. I’ve (mostly) gotten used to his thinking out loud.

We know when to talk and when to shut up. We know when a hug is needed more than words. We know when to help and when to back off. We know when to say, “I’m sorry.”

We know we are loved.

If A is a singular article, and couple is a  plural noun, then a couple must be a singular plural.

Happy Birthday, Hon. I love you.

He cuts his own hair — and does so well enough that he doesn’t come out looking like he’s suffering mange. However, She has discovered there is an inexplicable correlation between her cleaning the bathroom and his hair cuts.

She cleaned the bathroom the other day. She scrubbed the walls from top to bottom, cleaned the air vent and the ceiling fan, then did all the other standard bathroom cleaning things. Well, she did have some small difficulty cleaning the mirror, but that was an unusual occurrence.

He came home from work. He went into her sparkling clean bathroom — and stayed.

And stayed.

And stayed.

She didn’t ask. Somethings deserve a measure of privacy. [ ] Finally, He emerged from the bathroom.

She — having waited so long — rushed right in and discovered her shiny glass and chrome had sprouted hair! What th –! Immediately she exited the bathroom and went in search of him. She found him in the kitchen innocently getting a drink of water. She gave him that look. He froze. “Wha –?” He queried all innocent like.

“What is it,” she asked, pointing toward the hall, “about a clean bathroom that makes it imperative you cut your hair?”

Still frozen like a mouse being scrutinized by a cat, he answered, “I, uh, well, uhm, — it’s just coincidence!”

Ha! She doesn’t believe that and she knows He doesn’t either. It has happened enough times that there is a definite cause-and-effect relationship. Maybe she should get a scientist in to study the phenomenon?

She told him he was very well-rounded.

He said: “It’s because you feed me too much.”

~***~

She said: “I adore you.”

He said: “So that’s why my nose is sore. I thought it looked flatter than usual.”

She said: “Damn. I was hoping to knock some sense into you. Didn’t work.”

~***~

He said, “I didn’t sleep a bit last night.”

She said, “Oh, did your snoring keep you awake, too?”

~***~

They were on their way to the airport. He was leaving for a three day business trip on a nearby island. She said: “Couldn’t you just fly home every night and sleep here?”

He said: “I seriously considered it. The cost is about the same as staying, but the meeting schedule conflicts with the flight times.”

She was content just knowing he’d rather be home.

She woke him and asked if he was going to work. He said, “Yes, I have things to get done.” Then he promptly went back to sleep. She showered, shampooed, brushed and combed, then woke him again. He said, “I’ll get up in a minute.”

Thirty minutes later she kissed his cheek, palmed the car keys and left the house. It was his turn to have the car, but she figured the best way to keep him from deciding to go ahead and go to work when he woke, was to take his transportation.

She expected to be in trouble when she got home from work, but he was feeling so poorly he didn’t take issue with being stranded. Moreover, he said he’s not even going to pretend he’s going to work tomorrow. She’s happily surprised. Apparently common sense is a side effect of this virus.*

Ladies, would you like me to bottle some for your man?

*untested hypothesis

We both have head colds — and proof the romance is over –we each have our own box of Kleenex. We used to sit on the couch side-by-side, they now sit between us. Our hugs are primarily for the boxes. Our kisses — if you can call them that — are given to the tissues.

We are, however, still sharing the same trash can.

He came home from work and said, “Today’s business meeting went really well. Much better than I expected.”

She: “Why? What did you expect?”

He: “Oh, I don’t know. I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

She: “Oh! I know that feeling. I have it, too. I mean, I live in Hawaii. I live in a gorgeous condo. And I have a wonderful man.”

He: “You have an wonderful man? Where is he?”

She: “Very funn–”

He: “Are you holding out on me?”

She giggled: “Why? Do you want a wonderful man?”

He looked surprised then laughed: “You know what I meant.”

She: “I’m not so sure. I’m thinking I should be worried.”

Still laughing, he hugged her: “I don’t know, if I’m saying things like that, I’m thinking I should be worried!”

She said: “Its okay, honey. It’s not like anybody else will ever know.”

She knew he took the car when he left home at a ridiculously early hour that morning, but for some reason the consequences of that act didn’t occur to her. She bathed and brushed and combed as usual. She checked the blogs as usual. She even enjoyed a bit of juice and a banana for breakfast, then answered an email to a friend.

She glanced again at the clock, gave the house a vague once over, then walked to the counter to get the — bus pass?

Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! She dashed to the bedroom and grabbed her socks, stuffed her feet into them and jammed into her shoes. House keys, house keys! Where are the — oh there! She ran to the door and — decided she should put her blouse on before leaving the house.

She looked at the clock, snatched the bus pass off the counter and dashed for the door. She hustled down the stairs like greased — molasses –, waddled across the parkinglot as fast as she could limp, then She huffed and puffed uphill (okay, slope) as fast as she could — only to hear the bus go by when she was only halfway to the stop. Lovely.

She looked at her watch, grabbed her cell phone and called Ms. Jewls’ cell phone to tell her she’d be a bit late. She ended that call and dialed again. He answered. She told him all of her woes — they were his fault because usually when He takes the car for the day he always takes her to work. She told him that He should have pointed out to her that since he was leaving early, he wouldn’t be there to drive.

He wondered what happened to the intelligent lady he fell in love with. He didn’t say that though. He said, “I’m sorry you’re having a bad morning. I love you. Happy Valentine’s Day.” She told him she loved him, too.

The call ended just as She reached the top of the slope and turned the corner. She couldn’t believe her eyes. There at the bus stop was the bus! She sprinted the last few yards and climbed aboard. “I thought I missed it,” she said to the lady she sat beside. “I know I heard a bus go down the hill.”

“It was the school bus,” the lady answered.

She was very happy to be on the bus at all — and relieved to be on the only one that could get her to work on time — and overjoyed to discover she had all of her clothes on.

She said: “I have to see to the soup.”

He said: “Shouldn’t you “S” the soup?”

She frowned and said: “Huh?”

He said: “Shouldn’t you “S” it? After all, it’s ssssoup.”

Her frown cleared. “No. I am going to “C” the soup. You knew I was spelling challenged long before you took up with me.”

~ * * * ~ * * ~ * * * ~

She said: “I’m going to iron your shirt.”

He said: “Steel them.”

She said: “Steal what?”

He said: “My shirts. In this day and age I am certain you should steel them.”

She said: “You aren’t making any sense! Why would I want to steal . . . Oh! Steel. Right.” She gave him that look and said dryly, “That was really very funny, honey.”

~ * * * ~ * * ~ * * * ~

She said: “I just washed this table cloth and it’s dirty already. Look, there is a ring all the way around your plate!”

He said: “The nachos were messy!”

She moved her plate. “Look,” she said. “Not a crumb. Not a spot. Not a mark.”

“Yes,” he nodded his head. “But my shirt is still clean.”

“Oh!” Her hand flew to her chest and she stared at him open-mouthed.

He sauntered away smirking.

For Christmas She sewed him a bag to carry his musical supplies in. He proudly carries it with him to all his practices.

One evening He came home from practice late and tired. He trudged the trumpet case, the supply bag, and his laptop case and a dripping umbrella up three flights of stairs. She was waiting at the top for him with their apartment door open. He stumbled into the living room and wearily divested himself of his burdens.

When He let go of the music bag, it slowly listed sideways then stopped at a precarious angle. He stared at it for a moment, then reached out and stood it upright. It slouched over again. Once more He set it upright, ordering it to, “Stay!” It did. He looked surprised.

“Hey,” She said. “Why are you surprised? Any bag I made for you would have to be obedient.”

He reached out and pulled her into a hug as He queried pointedly, “You mean like you are?”

She tried to look outraged, but cracked up laughing. “Well,” She said. “Maybe just a little bit better.”

She made a bowl full of popcorn and set it on the couch between them. As she read her hand dipped in the bowl once, twice, three times. The fourth time she dropped her hand to the bowl she found only grease stains and popcorn hulls. “Hey!” She said, “Where’d the popcorn go?”

He looked up from his reading in surprise and said, “I guess I ate it.”

She said, “I expected it would last the better part of the afternoon.”

“Oh,” he said. “I like to eat it while it’s hot.”

“Fine,” she said, “Eat your share hot. Leave my share alone.”

Later in the week, She made a lovely plate of cheese, crackers, fresh veggies and beef stick. She set it on the coffee table between them. She ate a couple of the crackers and some of the broccoli while he was on the phone, but only a bit because she was expecting they’d eat together. When he finished speaking to the caller he handed her the receiver — and while she talked he ate everything on the plate. Later defending himself by saying, “Well how was I supposed to know you made only one plate of food for two people?”

Today she fixed lunch for the two of them, but because her tummy was upset, she ate only a bit. Later, after she’d napped, she realized she was hungry and went into the kitchen and made herself a snack. She put a little extra on the plate in case he wanted a bite or two, then She joined him on the couch.

He did have a couple of bites of her snack. She reached for her beverage and realized that she’d prepared one for him, but not herself. When she exclaimed aloud that She had forgotten her drink, He held out his hand and said, “Here, I’ll hold your plate while you go get it.”

She actually started to put the plate in his hands, but before his fingers closed around it She came to her senses and cried, “No,” jerking the plate away from him.

He laughed and said innocently, “A person would think you don’t trust me.”

“Huh,” she said. “Fancy that.”