My father's birthday was yesterday. Because we share the common 27th day (of different months), it's my lucky number.
I have tried, since he died, to mark that day and his date of death in ways that are special or meaningful to me, and/or would have been to him.
This year, not so much an ooptionMy sister and I are in Atlanta with my Mom. we got our nails done, I picked up some de-wormer for one of her dogs, and we had takeout with her and her boyfriend. After he left, we girls watched the new Amazon Original "Being The Ricardos". If it doesn't get love from The Oscars, I will be stunned. Nicole Kidman nails it, Javier Bardem does the impossible in making me find Desi Arnaz charming, and the supporting cast is a list of people I love (J.K. Simmons, Tony Hale, Alia Shawkat), and a new face to me, Nina Arianda, who just gets it as Ethel Mertz/Vivian Vance. Check it out.
Anyway - none of that was a true homage to my father. But on the 26th, when I was feeling really anxious, I happened to see a pair of bluebirds, and I feel like that was a good start. Let's let that be it, as we say.
Dad would have been 81, although, really, I know that was never in the cards for him. He left the world as was appropriate.
Tonight we over-ate. Takeout again - southern classics - fried chicken with all the trimmings.
I will start again. Grilled chicken, vegetables. Cut back on my beloved sweets.
But happy belated to the man who sends me birds, gave me my hair and my sense of humor, and taught me to feed people as a sign of my love.
Happy Birthday, Dad.