Today I celebrate my husband.
Al Cratty is one good man. One of the truly good guys. He takes very good care of me, and goes along with most of my hair-brained schemes. He’s easy to live with, very handy, good to my kids, and the dog loves him the best.
Once a year, I try to hold International Al Day, just to show my appreciation. It’s usually in the fall, and generally some disaster befalls us on that day. One year his car blew up while we were in going for a drive in Pleasant Hill, and we spent the whole day at a gas station in a sleet storm while we waited for the tow truck. We spent the evening buying a new truck in the same sleet storm. That’s usually how International Al Day goes.
He didn’t get his day last fall, so here we are in a dreary February, and I made him a cherry pie for breakfast, which he will eat after his omelet. No Cheerios this morning–Al gets whatever he wants today. I’ll take him out to lunch, too, and he can decide what he wants to do about dinner. (Boys are all about food, aren’t they?)
There aren’t any marching bands today, and he doesn’t get cards and well-wishes from far away, and it isn’t really a big deal.
Except that it is.
I make it a big deal for him, because today, on International Al Day, he’s the only one who counts.