Red letter days. They used to write them in red, so William Caxton wrote back in 1490, in his translation of the Aenid, ‘Eneydos’: “We wryte yet in oure kalenders the hyghe festes wyth rede lettres of coloure of purpre.”
It seems they should be purple-letter days.
August 3rd is always written in high-festive purple here at Shrewsday Mansions. We have been buying birthday cards and Maddie has been trying out her cake recipes in readiness. Yesterday on the London train, we spent our time texting Phil in a bid to get some vital leads.
“What do you want for your birthday present, Daddy?” texted Maddie from her new phone. “And don’t say socks.”
The answer came back with lightening speed: “A pair of socks” The children chortled and gurgled and hard-bitten commuters strove with all their might to disguise the smiles which fought to overcome them.
“No, really,” I rejoined, “We need to know…what would you like?” I pressed send and little data packets took their surf boards down to the radio waves, whooping as they set out on their invisible journey to my husband’s side.
Shortly, more data packets washed up on my iPhone: “Pure love”, they informed me.
This really was no help at all. But the children simply roared with laughter.
We settled for a mug with ‘Wham’ by Lichtenstein on it – a particular favourite of Phil’s – and had it gift wrapped ready for this morning, when we would rise early to give him cards and presents before he set off for London.
Which we did.
He set off in his suit and tie and we hurried about our days business: we walked the dog through the forest to his favourite forest pond, and watched him obsessing over his own ripples. We took Maddie to the dentist and had lunch with Mum and Dad and hosted a visit from D.I.Y Derek, who is going to floor our house and paint our walls. Inconsequential stuff of which life is built.
And then it was time to prepare. We flew to the shops and bought burgers and sausages and rolls, and returned so that Maddie could begin her cake making in earnest.
At six the cake was made, and my clever daughter’s ganache, and tiny silver balls, rendered it a red-letter confection. My parents shouted hellos as they crossed the threshold, and everyone had a party drink as Grandpa began the slow process of lighting my husband’s beloved chimenea.
Phil arrived to find the children excited and the adults cheery, our ancient deaf cat shouting and our dog grinning and wagging his tail.
He is a year older, and a year more fascinating: an endless fount of information and interest, a one-man cabaret, a pyromaniac of epic proportions. He sat himself down companionably in front of the chimenea and held court from his personal alfresco fireside, poking sticks into the furnace and dispensing pearls of wisdom.
Man’s Best Friend loves these session, as I suspect dogs have for millennia: the juices dripped onto the pavement in front of the fire, and Macaulay pays court with meticulous care. Phil, always one to dress Macaulay, put a hat on the dog and we spent a few minutes gauging whether he liked it. We all concluded that on balance, he didn’t. The hat was ousted unceremoniously.
The dog was rewarded by a birthday sausage. He has a schnauzer’s thieving instinct, and the gift of a sausage was met with the furtive stealth worthy of a 1940’s spiv with a coat full of silver spoons. He slunk off to his ‘special place’. A check a few minutes later revealed he was not eating it, but hoarding it. We will probably find it under the stairs some time tomorrow.
Felix was becoming animated as only an eight year old boy can, trying out every one-liner in his repertoire. Maddie sat, a special smile on her face, hugging to herself the fact that she has made a beautiful cake which everyone has devoured and proclaimed delicious.
And then the fire died down, the dog sloped off, guests made their excuses and the children were herded off for bathtime.
And still, out there in the growing gloom, my birthday bloke sat staring into the glowing embers, the historian in him mulling the turn of another year, and the beginning of another.
It has been the most gentle of red-letter days.
Kate Shrewsday 
Just time before the ‘witching hour’ to wish birthday greetings to Phil. It sounds as if a really good time was had by all.
Many thanks, Rosemary, I’ll pass it on..
Beautiful post. Loved every minute of your red letter day!
Please wish the Birthday Bloke a year filled with glowing embers, ample socks, pure love . . . an many more red letter days!
Will do, Nancy, thanks 🙂
I like your style of birthdays! Methinks all of you should drop round and do mine while I am over there. It will happen only three days before we depart again, act-chilly!
Do I gather you have a trip to the UK planned, Col? Great news….do keep me posted….
Sounds like a great party. Happy birthday, Phil!
Thanks Kathy. I’ll pass it on 🙂
What a lovely glimpse of family life, Kate – you are indeed all blessed 😀
Life is generally good, BB 🙂
Ganache! Please tell Maddie that the lady from the cutoff is extremely impressed, and then a happy birthday to Phil, and the wish for many more red letter days. It doesn’t get better than this.
No, it doesn’t, Penny. Something tells me the secret of happiness is to notice when one is happy; ad so often it’s not the big trumpeting events which make us so, but the small minutiae of everyday life. Happiness spills over in your blog, too.
Lovely gentle read. ‘ Inconsequential stuff of which life is built.’ Yes.
I would have liked to have seen a pic of the cake though!
It really was quite spectacular, Earlybird. My daughter surprises me daily. There seems to be little she cannot do…
He’s a lucky bloke to have you lot, happy birthday Phil 🙂
Cheers Cindy. No onwards and upwards into another year….
what a lovely day, a man worthy of the attention, presents designed for the heart and not the pocket, memories for that most precious of all gifts, a happy life
It was a lovely day, Sidey 🙂 The preface to another of these fascinating years. Trouble is, time goes so fast when you’re having fun…
it’s so good to appreciate the life you have
🙂
A charming post, Kate.
No picture of the cake?
It’s half – no, strike that- thee quarters eaten now, Tilly, but I’ll have a go at posting it. It looked spectacular!
This is a lovely picture of your world Kate, filled with ease and love and fun.
Also, I like the sound of DIY Derek…
He’s fab but he’s a bit of a talker. He has high standards, and each needs to be thoroughly debated before it is actioned. He came to give me a quote which should have taken 30 minutes tops, and I was edging him out of the door after 60….
Belated happy birthday to your chap, Phil! Lovely post.
Thanks Pseu. I’ll pass those on 🙂
Lovely birthday party – Happy Belated Birthday wishes to Phil!
Thanks Denise 🙂
Oh, what a gorgeous celebration you all had, Kate 🙂 I loved reading all about it…and Very Happy Birthday to Phil!!
Thanks Naomi 🙂 It was a lovely day.
Happy Birthday to Phil. I loved hearing that you are married to a pyro. I live with one of the best. And I am definitely going with the purple letters. That really cracked me up.
😀 We’ll each have to procure a purple pen for calendars, Tammy.
Living with a pyro is never dull, is it?