♠Merci, anonyme. 

What I consider “special” might seem mundane to others. This year, I was grateful to have Lestat with me, as there were many years without him. Each year he asks me what I wish for, what physical objects he can give, places we might go. He wants to know if I want a coven gathering or to just keep to ourselves. I usually choose the latter, but I receive cards to our P.O. box from the coven from all over the world. How do they know it’s my birthday? I’ve never even met some of them.

Every year I’ve been able to do so, I tell him I’m content to just have him with me. 

Despite my reticence to ask for anything, he always finds an object that has some meaning to me, perhaps an early edition of a favorite novel with the author’s notations, or he will make a “happening” in which we awaken to a string quartet playing works from one of my favorite composers in our candlelit courtyard. He won’t force me to dance; we curl up together in a rattan chaise, with pillows and plush blankets, to enjoy the music. 

After that, he sometimes blindfolds me and we take flight to some other destination. This year, we went to Portland’s Rose Test Garden in Oregon. Roses of so many different colors and scents, some more like citrus, others more like honey… it was a truly unique experience.

We stayed there in the garden for two nights, where I expressed my appreciation to him. I won’t go into more detail on that. Some nights, we sleep in the dirt, as if we were a part of nature. Lestat gently excavated me on the second night, waking up with the film of good clean dirt was almost like a rebirth. Seeing his face with the backdrop of the starry night sky, his hands carefully wiping my face clean as he spoke gentle words to me, that was a special gift.