"All the world is birthday cake, so take a piece, but not too much." George Harrison

Today is Flag Day. And my birthday. Donald Trump's birthday too. Plus a few other celebs, living and dead. Big whoop.

It bothers me that Flag Day isn't a bigger whoop, but there you go, welcome to the American Way. Celebrity trumps history every time.

Frankly, Boomer birthdays become less cause for celebration every year. At least I'm younger than Trump. And not married to him. Blech.

Still, I'll go through the day with that delicious sense of entitlement we all feel on our birthdays. And the knowledge that I'm married to a good man who loves me. A lot.

My husband tries every year to make this day special. Rarely a surprise. Better. His goal is to give me something I truly want.

One year he and a contractor friend built me the perfect walk-in closet, to my exact specifications. I'm not showing too much, especially the custom shoe racks (ahem). It's not polite to brag. Even on your birthday.

A few years back, he got us a treadmill. Hey, I want him to stay healthy too. 

The next year, I got my iPod. Inscribed on the back, "Now you can tune me out all the time."

The year after that, iPod speakers for the treadmill. Believe me, it's endorphin heaven pounding along to the blasting music, looking out at our beautiful garden.

Last year, he planted a peach tree in that garden for me. All summer long I get my pick of juicy, delicious peaches. They're just starting to ripen now.

These might not seem like romantic gifts, but hey, anybody can buy roses or jewelry without much thought. My guy asks --or figures out-- what I most want or need, then does his best to give it to me.

That, my friends, is true love. Thoughtful. Responsive. Personal. Lasting. The real deal.

This birthday he got seriously creative.

For years I've had a set of china coffee mugs. I love them. They fit my hand perfectly, are curved to caress my lips at just the right pitch. When I slip my fingers into the "trigger" handles and take my first sip, I sigh with pleasure.

My niece Karen gave them to me. There were originally 12, now I'm down to 4, one of which is cracked. They aren't made any more, neither of us could find them anywhere. A few came close, but too heavy and thick.

A small thing, I know, but morning coffee is sacred to me. Those dwindling cups are special. Everybody knows not to use 'Sally's mugs.'

My sweetie took the cracked one to a local artist, a sculptor and potter, and commissioned her create 12 new mugs by hand.

He told me about it a couple weeks ago because she made some beautiful samples for him to bring home. I tried each one, sent them back as she asked with notes on size, shape, balance, handle placement, weight.

Go ahead, call me Goldilocks, those are the things that make my mugs just right.

I don't have them yet because now the artist is invested in getting them perfect. She's determined to give me exactly what I want. Because my husband told her how much it means to him to make me happy.

Yeah. I know how lucky I am.

For us, it really is the thought that counts.

So whenever he brings them home we'll celebrate my birthday all over again. Of course without my getting any older.

For the record, my son --a chip off the old block-- gave me a new monitor this year. He wanted it to be for Mother's Day, but I insisted we combine it with my birthday too.

I'll get calls, emails, cards from family and friends today. Maybe a few nice comments from my friends here too.

Tonight, at my request, my husband, son and I will grill steaks and corn on the cob and share a quiet dinner of just we three.

What can I say, I'm easy to please. Especially when I'm gifted with love.

Here's a little gift for Your Birthday too: FamousBirthdays.com

PS I know there are a lot of people --too many-- not as fortunate as I am. I hope this post isn't seen as bragging and doesn't cause pain to anyone. I really do cherish my luck (and frankly, hard work too). I wish the same happiness for everybody, every day of the year.