I have written extensively about Jeff in this blog and yet I feel that I haven’t really done justice in describing the man, who loves and adores the crazy woman that I am.
Jeff will turn 60 tomorrow. While he cringes at the thought of the number, I, on the other hand, brag it like a badge of honor.
My husband will be 60 – but he doesn’t feel like he’s 60!
Jeff suffers from diabetes and I could go on and on in this entry discussing about what we do to lessen his sugar intake, but I would much rather focus on other things for this. (Well, okay, no more white rice at home for five months now. We have shifted to corn grits. There.)
Jeff doesn’t smoke or drink.
He often says he’s boring to many because he has never tried smoking a cigarette. He tried a sip of beer when he was probably 17 or 18 and never tried it again. Wine is only used for cooking, although in our five-year marriage, I only saw him use red wine ONCE.
I don’t smoke.
But I’m an occasional drinker.
So there’s always a bottle of red wine in the fridge. And a few more bottles stashed in my little corner called “home office.”
Jeff likes peace and quiet.
You go to him with a problem and his instant response is to provide a solution. He hates it when he can’t find one.
Jeff loves shooting zombies. I don’t get it why he continues to watch The Walking Dead and Fear The Walking Dead when he dislikes the way the plots are unfolding or the way the characters act in times of distress – or even in sobriety.
But that’s Jeff.
He has created a man cave inside our room, a small space with a table we bought for less than $50. It’s situated next to my six-year-old book shelf filled with books I barely have time to read.
Jeff works there.
When he’s home, he spends most of his time there.
Literally.
He writes sports marketing plans, talks to clients, chats with prospective clients and – yeah – shoots zombies in the very same space.
It is perhaps the lone space in our bedroom that is spared when the mutants invade our room. My vanity area is a disaster with earrings losing their screws. Just today, Jeff Jr. placed two of my pearl earrings in the glass filled with lemon-infused water. Thank goodness I checked it before chugging it all down.
Jeff cooks.
He and I brag about his pasta and meatballs.
He makes a mean meatloaf too.
But what I really love the most is stir-fried steak in yellow and red pepper. It’s a memory from our Garden Hotel Apartment home in Guangzhou, China that evokes a tingling, happy sensation in my heart.
It was 10:00 p.m. on a weekday and I just came from a nerve-wracking exam for graduate school. I didn’t eat the whole day, afraid that I would throw up while the test was ongoing.
I finally felt the hunger 15 minutes before 10 in the evening and I begged Jeff with my pitiful voice and kitty eyes that I need food.
He got up with a grumbling sound and I followed him to kitchen. Take note that this was 15 minutes before 10:00 p.m. Jeff is normally asleep at eight or nine so rousing him from sleep is probably not the best thing that a wife does to her husband.
But he got up, went straight to the kitchen and opened the freezer.
“I can cut-up some steak and stir fry that with pepper and then some potatoes. Okay?” he asked.
I nodded.
That remains as the single best dish that Jeff ever made for me.
I yet have to ask him what was his favorite dish from the ones I made up. My guess? Probably, lechon kawali.
Our family is not big on parties on our birthdays. We normally just celebrate among ourselves in a hotel or a resort with two boxes of pizza or a buffet dinner.
Tomorrow won’t be any different (as I will also work).
But the cosmos knows that tomorrow is special because someone I love and adore will celebrate six decades of his existence in this mortal world.
Happy Birthday Jeffrey!
May all your dreams and wishes come true.
We love you.
I love you.
