You know, I really wasn't intending to write about these two celebrations here at HH.
Not because I didn't think the occasions worth a celebration, but because it is not a genuine celebration when someone tells you that you have to 'follow instructions' and 'be a good worker' to the perfected letter, and should you fail, you 'don't love' the person and therefore 'i won't celebrate for you either'.
It has been a heavy, and exhausting price to get these pictures.
And really, I don't quite know what and how to make of them.
I can't say they aren't valuable.
Yet neither can I say that they're treasured.
Perhaps they are just what they are- a piece of documentation for my birthday and Christmas for 2024- and nothing more.
With that being said, that's not all there is, however.
This place doesn't belong solely to just one.
No, it's more than that, and this place, this table, this celebration, and everything that is still on here down to the table cover and placemats, used to be known to Mr. Radioman.
To disdain these pictures and treat them like trash made me feel like I would be disdaining his former presence, his present memory.
He did, after all, for my birthday, use to be tasked to get one of those round chiffon marble cakes from the neighborhood bakery downstairs.
And he did bring out the cake knife and all, and then we'd share this chiffon marble cake together when we met up a week or so after.
Same it was for Christmas.
He'd be the one buying the tub of ice cream and the fruit cocktail.
I'd be the one getting special cookies for everybody.
There's no ice cream now (thank God) but there's still the fruit cocktail and the soft drinks, and instead of cookies, I got butter cake, and pannetone.
