Happy Birthday Huck

Huck's birthday is tomorrow and I'm in the same muddle I always am this time of year.  What do you get for a man who wants nothing?  He's as non-materialistic as humans come. And yet I feel compelled to materially display my appreciation for his birth.

The first time he dropped by my place in Seattle, he was wearing a brown leather jacket from the late '80's which he'd found in some wiser man's dumpster.  It was not the first, nor the last, turn-off he had to overcome to win my "hand."  Currently, he loves our old '94 Oldsmobile as a political statement.  The door squeaks, LOUDLY, when/if it opens.  The automatic windows don't go up without serious midwifing.  The transmission is nearly dead, slips out of gear in intersections and takes about five minutes to find a gear, any gear, upon start-up.  In fact, it can only find reverse with any certainty, and only after pressing the gas down as far as it will go, then it leaps back, howls at the moon, and runs off.  So you have to parallel park it where no one can get in behind you.  The oil pan has a huge crack in it.  Once that goes, the whole car will be gone in seconds.  And now there's thumping around the driver's side tire.  We plunked down the $1800 trade-in value my grandma wanted back in 2003.  Aside from an occasional tire or two and a few oil changes (with the leak, it's really a self-changing system), we've spent nothing on it's upkeep.  And the insurance is about three pennies a month.  And so, what could ANYONE buy for a man that loves to drive this butt-ugly crime against Detroit to work when he's not riding his bike?

I've given him a fancy trombone case.  A full tuba tune-up.  Socks.  Jazz from France.  Culinary tools.  Socks.  T-shirts.  Good running shoes.  Bike accessories.  And that's it.  I'm done.  I've got no other ideas hiding up here in this feeble cranium.

The kids had no problem: a hula hoop and boomerang!  In the bag!

Every year this birth day thing comes up and every year it stumps me.  I suppose I could get him a tie, but he's got a lifetime supply of four already.  And he'd only like if I got it on clearance from Goodwill.

Lingerie?  I have the best already. 

The thing I think he'd really like, is a big fat deposit in our bank account.  But that's not something I can give him with my current job.

I feel like, pretty much, the lamest wife ever at this point.  Every six months.  It's my twice-yearly I-suck-fest. Like the Macy's sale.  Lowest pride of the year.

But it's kind of his fault.  He wants nothing.  He doesn't want.  He doesn't like to want.  He's is fulfilled. Damn former-Hari Kirshna.

Perhaps I can count as his gift our trip last weekend for him to play at the Conscious Culture Festival in Tonasket.  And what a gift it was!  More like the Unconscious Chronic Festival. My reward for this lameness was pretty awesome, in all honesty:  playing in the parade on the go-cart drum set, created for Burning Man, but moved up to the site of Barter Fair by a sweet guy named Quill.  It wasn't all lame stonerness, which I should say isn't Huck's thing either.  He's allergic, actually.  (these are the photos you see, and I'm including one of myself this time, because someone took one finally).

Recently he mentioned, fervently frustrated, that our covers are a mess.  Here I thought he was a "toss another blanket on" kind of guy.  So, every time I wake up cold, I trek down to the basement to rustle up another blankie for our growing mound.  Making the bed takes about an hour.  The covers have to go on in a certain order.  You don't want the wool ones right on top of you, but they're kind of stained army-surplus numbers that you don't want to see every time you walk in to the room either.  It's a "full" size bed, which means that you could just lay one arm across it and it would be FULL!  And the kids like to join us some mornings.  Someone always ends up crying on the floor with a split lip or sprained ankle.  King Louis sleeps at the bottom of my side...which means that I spend my nights in perfect cannon-ball form, as if I'm getting ready to make my big splash at the community pool.  Meanwhile, the motley blanket lasagna slides off in all directions.

Huck finally declared that he wanted a comforter for his birthday.  And I insist on all natural, so a down comforter (which I've wanted for decades) is on the menu.  Unfortunately, the price is not on Huck's birthday wish list.  I found a deal, but then spent two hours searching for a duvet cover, which they don't sell in this town, apparently.  The kids were getting wacky (it's summer vacation now, so they come with me everywhere, wacky or not) and I was getting grumpy and suddenly I realize it's 6:00pm!!  And we're all hungry and tired.

The day is gone, wasted, a duvet-cover-less sunset and Huck had to make dinner, I'm that demoralized.

And Sunday is, DOH! Father's Day!  When will this madness stop?! 

Otherwise: Coyote lost his first tooth, Blue's in rafting camp this week - in the rain, the fridge is full of my own yogurt, cheeses and raw milk again, my heart is filled with joy every morning at five am, as odd as that sounds, for the sweet smell of sunrise and a cozy barn. And Lucky Farm's broadcast pasture seed is feeding fascinating Eastern Kingbirds and Brewer's Blackbirds. Happy Birthday Huck.