70

I don't know that I've ever hosted a birthday party for the Old Man that I was thoroughly satisfied with and trying to pull one off in a hospital room is a tall order in any case without the added challenge of it being a milestone birthday. With all that baggage in mind, I'm still calling Tuesday a success. He got his tangerine juice. He got his Ethiopian food. He was genuinely enjoying the company of my mother, Mozhu, Turtle and Turtlewife. (Although things threatened to get out of a control once or twice, they never did.) When he kicked us out, it was a pleasant exhaustion that was settling on him rather than irritation.

I was worried opening more than thirty cards would end up becoming a slog, but I was careful not to force him, and that made a difference. There was also a good mix of ridiculousness and heartfelt emotion in the envelopes. I think he was particularly gratified to see so many from his former colleagues, so kudos to the one in particular who got them organised.