A Birthday Gift for the Aged, I mean Ages

Ank and me outside my apartment

​Back when white painters pants were a thing first time around, a woman I'd known in high school invited me to join her on a weekend trip from Boston to Burlington. As we drove north on Route 89 in the snow of deep winter, her Subaru started to make unfamiliar sounds just south of West Lebanon, New Hampshire. We pulled off at a gas station/convenient store, but it was late on a Friday night and the only person working was a kid also in his early twenties. We told him of our troubles and he kindly locked up the store and came to look at our car, determining that we needed a new fan belt, an easy fix in the morning. He called a tow truck and invited us to sleep on his and his girlfriend's couch, which we gratefully accepted. In the morning, they made us breakfast and he drove us to the garage. As though he hadn't done enough, he said he'd guide us back to Route 89. Stopped at a light, a car T-boned his hardworking and already beaten up old car. We pulled over, moritified. After what was likely not enough back and forth, he (still warmly and politely) convinced us that staying wouldn't help, so we thanked him and went on our way, while he focused on more important things. The whole weekend long, we thought about him dealing with his cracked up car, knowing how little he and his girlfriend had, while we were whooping it up at UVM. We didn't have his last name and being lame 20 somethings, didn't try to find any identifying information. I have never forgotten his largesse, lamenting the disadvantage in which he was put because of it, and so uncomfortable with the inequity of our response and thanks. While it comes up regularly, it's particularly on my mind today. 

Last Friday afternoon, my dear friend Ank arrived on the train from Basel to celebrate my birthday. She brought her beautiful smile and hearty laugh, absurdly good Swiss chocolate and pretty candles that give a warm glow in the evening. It had been two years, but was only minutes before we were back in it. While we've shared hard things in the past, we've also had a lot of fun. We're both the ones who say "Sure" if someone suggests doing something, though it's unlikely anyone will make a suggestion before we do. So I made many plans in my head for adventures we'd take over the five days she was here. But alas, I woke up sick the day after she arrived and as time went on, felt worse. There was my friend who'd just recovered from COVID, stuck in the germ factory of my not properly furnished apartment with me either sleeping or hacking up a lung. 

Every morning I'd wake up saying I was feeling better, and suggest some  plan or other. She'd just nod patiently and say "Let's see how things go" with a smile, only to end up padding quietly around the apartment, bringing me tea and meals. When I had a little energy, we went to the hardware store and she picked out the right lightbulb. She put up my hooks and fixed the thermostat, standing on a chair with flashlight and YouTube. Through it all she was warm, kind, funny, exhibiting not one iota of the annoyance I imagine I might feel in her place. And we never stopped talking and laughing, never ran out of things to say. Our time together and the love and care Ank bestowed upon me are gifts so graciously generous that I'm moved to tears every time I think about the last few days. My thanks in return? Sending her back to Switzerland with my illness, all her plans cancelled. Rest up my friend.

Ank's candles and the end of the ranunculi

One night we watched Miss France 2026. Miss Tahiti won

On the last day, when I was feeling better and she hadn't yet been afflicted, Ank took my out for a birthday diner. We wanted a photograph of the sardinettes, but were embarrassed to be those Americans taking photos of food, so, I snuck in this picture of my great friend and then pivoted to the sardines.

Les sardinettes, served with crusty wheat bread and butter so good the sardines became less interesting, Les Galinas

Next up and finally, the move and the apartment.