Last year I forgot to mention my grandfather’s birthday until after it passed. (Some grandson, eh? The guy gives me fodder for years’ worth of blog posts, and that’s the thanks he gets.)
I won’t be quite so daft this year.
Here, the guy who kept the calendars pats himself on the back for a change.
Perhaps it was discomfort or modesty that led him to label his quickly sketched cake and candles, as though their identities were unclear.
(It is kind of a bare-bones cake, without so much as a single rosette, though the same was probably true of whatever cake my grandma actually baked.)
As we’ve previously established, this was a couple years after my grandpa’s first heart attack. I imagine each birthday felt a little sweeter to him after that, even after he’d settled in to his new lifestyle.
I don’t think I’ll dump any more of my overwritten quasi-analysis onto this calendar entry.
I’ll just wish my grandpa a happy birthday, offer him a slice of plain scratch-baked cake, and thank him for keeping the calendars.