My mom called me yesterday to tell me about a birthday.
Harry Gilbey, a lovely man from "home", turns 89 today.
I gave Harry a call, because I couldn't resist the chance to wish him a happy day OR to tease him just a little bit. Harry's kind of a special dude. I first met him when I was a kid, and his granddaughter and I were friends. I never called him Mr. Gilbey or even Harry, as most know him. To me he was always Harrison, usually said with a cheeky grin and a twinkle in my eye.
Harry is tall, handsome, and with the most beautiful, thick white hair on earth. One summer many years ago, I'm guessing somewhere around the time I got married, we ended up at "the store" together. (It is a small community, if you needed anything from gas to birthday cards, you went to "the store" which was actually Brewer's General Store.) Harry made the comment that behind every man....
And I finished with "is a woman who picks up his ass when he falls down."
He laughed a lot, and never forgot it.
When I was home last summer, he gave me a hug at church and said I got prettier every time he saw me. I'm pretty sure I blushed.
We had a lovely chat a few minutes ago and he admitted he only feels 65, maybe 66. Harry lives the "age is just a number" theory - he's still sharp as a tack and thirsty to learn.
Anyway, Happy Birthday Harrison, have a wonderful day with your family, and next time I'm home I'm expecting a big hug.