![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Happy Birthday Announcement
May. 14th, 2005 08:44 amWhen I was 11, my mum decided she wanted to take up Russian again. So she got in touch with these lovely retired people, kin to people we knew at the time (and with whom with later lost touch), and one rainy afternoon, we went to see them, and she took me along.
We took to each other immediately: I was a quiet, bookish, low-maintenance child, happy to stretch out on their couch with a Good Book and a handful of Pastilles Vichy (they're sort of sweets, only not, cos they're not really sweet: they're full of vichy minerals, slightly mint-flavoured, and, well, I just loved them). And they always made sure they had anough Pastilles Vichy to keep me munching. We loved each other.
As years went by, we stayed in touch, and whenever they came visit -- they always brought me a box of Pastilles Vichy. *g*
Then, when I was about twenty, Vera (who was Mum's Russian teacher) died of lung cancer, and Michel was left alone. So we invited him over, not very often because the ride was long and he was old (we would have gone visit him, but he didn't enjoy that as much: he needed excuses to get out of that house that was so full of memories and dust). And then I left home, but whenever I was in my hometown -- we'd meet. And I would flirt with him, in the way young women can harmlessly flirt with (much) older men, and it would make us both feel good.
The day Husband and I got married, he read a poem in church that he had written just for us. And two years ago, when he had to get rid of most of his old paintings (he is an architect and loves to draw and paint), I raised my hand and said that I would LOVE to have a painting by him. So he handpicked one and had it framed, just for me.
I haven't seen him these past few years, not since I moved to Canada at least. But I'll be calling him in a few hours. It's his birthday today, see.
And he's turning 100.
Happy birthday, Michel!
You rock my world, dear friend.
We took to each other immediately: I was a quiet, bookish, low-maintenance child, happy to stretch out on their couch with a Good Book and a handful of Pastilles Vichy (they're sort of sweets, only not, cos they're not really sweet: they're full of vichy minerals, slightly mint-flavoured, and, well, I just loved them). And they always made sure they had anough Pastilles Vichy to keep me munching. We loved each other.
As years went by, we stayed in touch, and whenever they came visit -- they always brought me a box of Pastilles Vichy. *g*
Then, when I was about twenty, Vera (who was Mum's Russian teacher) died of lung cancer, and Michel was left alone. So we invited him over, not very often because the ride was long and he was old (we would have gone visit him, but he didn't enjoy that as much: he needed excuses to get out of that house that was so full of memories and dust). And then I left home, but whenever I was in my hometown -- we'd meet. And I would flirt with him, in the way young women can harmlessly flirt with (much) older men, and it would make us both feel good.
The day Husband and I got married, he read a poem in church that he had written just for us. And two years ago, when he had to get rid of most of his old paintings (he is an architect and loves to draw and paint), I raised my hand and said that I would LOVE to have a painting by him. So he handpicked one and had it framed, just for me.
I haven't seen him these past few years, not since I moved to Canada at least. But I'll be calling him in a few hours. It's his birthday today, see.
And he's turning 100.
Happy birthday, Michel!
You rock my world, dear friend.
