I'm a Birthday Failure

Yesterday was Dave's birthday. I had a restaurant dinner planned but I wanted to get him a gift or two as well, and yet I seemed completely incapable of making that happen. I have no idea why I just couldn't get it done.

I was going to get him some cooking gear -- he's mentioned wanting to replace some of our pans and our baking sheets -- but I felt overwhelmed by the options and the task of trying to source the right things. I went to some shops and didn't see what I wanted, and I really didn't want to order online because I don't know brands and wasn't sure what I was going to get. At the end of the day I just bought him a gift card at our local kitchen supply store and I gave that to him. It feels silly since it's just me spending our money on something that he has to go choose anyway. Why couldn't he just walk into the store and buy it without my involvement? Know what I mean?

It feels like kind of a non-gift, in other words. But that's what he got.

For dinner I chose a restaurant in Mayfair that has a Michelin star and promised contemporary British cuisine. Unfortunately, when I made the reservation, I neglected to notice that Sunday was "jazz night." So we went in, sat down, and within half an hour a jazz trio gathered right behind Dave and began to play.

"You brought me to a jazz club for my birthday?" Dave asked.

Now, Dave hates jazz. I know this. So I explained that I didn't know about the jazz and we just rolled with it and laughed it off. The musicians were not intrusive and played softer pieces by the likes of Antonio Carlos Jobim and Miles Davis, so the music -- to me anyway -- was enjoyable. The dinner turned out OK -- Dave was happier with it than I was. But overall, I feel I didn't do a great job managing this birthday.

Here's an evening portrait of Olga in the garden -- the picture of happiness.

And here she is yesterday morning in front of one of the more unusual homes on our street, with its garden wall decorated with playful gargoyles and statuettes. This is the domain of the bathing beauty, who you can barely see in the background above Olga. (Her tub is obscured by all the shrubbery but trust me, it's still there.)

I had an unsettling dream last night. Dave and I were sitting on the couch in my childhood home in Land O' Lakes. We're talking and suddenly I hear what sounds like distant gunshots. We decide to close the sliding glass doors, which were standing open facing the lake, but I cannot pull them closed -- when I try some unseen force pulls them open again. I'm getting frantic at being unable to lock the house as the gunfire comes closer. That's when I woke up.

It doesn't take a degree in Freudian or Jungian psychology to interpret this as a reaction to what's going on in Iran, and the fear that the conflict will eventually threaten us. I saw yesterday that Keir Starmer came out in support of the Iran operation, though the UK did not participate. I can't see anything good coming of this but I trust Starmer more than I do Trump, so maybe there was some sound reasoning behind it. Then again, even if Starmer opposed it, would he say that after the fact? All that would do is antagonize Trump. So maybe his support doesn't really show agreement.

I am going to try to be very Zen and calmly exist amid uncertainty.

(Top photo: A shopping arcade across the street from last night's restaurant.)