I Can't Give You Anything But...

We spent the long weekend attending 60th birthday celebrations. The picture is mac-husband flanked by two of his college roommates at one such fiesta. The car (if
you can refer to a Porsche by such a common three letter word) was the surprise birthday present of the roommate on the right, given to him by his wife, who actually did the whole "I Love Lucy" hide-it-in-the-garage while he's-in-the-shower getting ready to go out to dinner thing.
Can you imagine? These things still happen in the alternative universe (New Jersey).

Our gift was a copy of the new book of yet another turning-sixty college friend and a photo from a ski trip in the sixties - all sideburns and Buddy Holly glasses.

Now I did get it together, last month, and pull myself out of the post-Christmas doldrums long enough to throw a small dinner party in honor of mac-husband reaching his hexacontal year but I didn't buy a present.
I would love to be the person who can find the perfect gift - the ohh-ahh-wow gift. I am so bad at gifts.

To be good at choosing a gift, one - you have to really know your recipient and two - you need to have confidence.
We've been together since before The Beatles broke up, you'd think "one" would be a slam dunk. It's not. And confidence? What's happened to me? I've lost it in so many ways.
Gifts are just things. Maybe some have meaning but mostly they don't. At this stage of the game the real gift is time - spent together, if possible.