Christa Allan

Ken (aka my husband)  doesn’t read my blog because he has selective computer disabilities. He has figured out how to access MSN weather and get the clouds moving across the South so he can make golf forecasts, how to check out putting together  car options on any number of luxury vehicle pages, and  can plod around to find golf and/or football scores.

He has yet, however, to figure out how to maneuver his way here. Actually, that might be a blessing. All those nights I shout from the office, “I’m working on my blog!” in answer to his, “Are you STILL on that *%#&*% computer?” might come to a keyboard screeching halt when he sees how little is written in relation to time taken. I’m still trying to explain the concept of “quiet processing.” That when I look as if I’ve just seen Angelina Jolie with thin lips or Bill Clinton holding hands with Monica or Johnny Depp…well, let’s skip that one…any way–that totally blank-faced, glassy-eyed stare means my brain is percolating. Of course, then I’d probably have to explain percolating; okay, it’s Mr. Coffee-ing.

But, back to the birthday. The too tiny photo is of a Maui sunrise which, if I had unlimited funds, would be what I would give Ken for his birthday. Our trips to Hawaii have been glorious experiences for the time we spend there together truly enjoying one another’s company in the exquisitely lush landscape that surrounds us at every turn.

I suppose I should send his mother a thank you card on his birthday. Her son has brought me joy, laughter, protection, comfort, and love. He has believed in me when I did not believe in myself. He encourages and challenges me to be a better me. He knows all the awfully selfish, greedy, mean, and petty parts of me…and still finds ways around and through them to love me.

I am so blessed that he had a day of birth, and that we can spend the rest of our days celebrating it.