When I think of Blue Eyes and her birthday, I will think of Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg.

You have to understand that she is a pluperfect planner and organizer. She has organized my most fantastic birthday celebrations.

When I turned 50, she organized a surprise party for about 80 people. She and the local police chief, who shall remain nameless, set up a plan months before my birthday and invented a massive drug raid in Rockland to divert my attention. I walked in the door of the Rockland Golf Club with two cameras and flashes, notebooks, you name it.

“Surprise!”

The police chief, who shall remain nameless, thought about forcing me to wear a bulletproof vest, then took pity on me at the last minute. Later, he handcuffed me to a chair for a prolonged roast.

People who attended the party contributed squares for a quilt which still hangs in my dining room.

Five years later, she took me to Primo, the area’s best (maybe) restaurant. Naturally, a group of friends was hidden away in the dining room. Jefferson Phil, an irrepressible sort, was so loud that I heard him laughing as I came in the door. Some surprise. Greg Dorr, who sometimes masquerades as a city attorney, played the fiddle as we whaled through fabulous bottles of champagne.

Naturally when I turned 60, she went all-out, renting the Monhegan ferryboat for a memorable evening that featured music from Walter and Michael, fresh from rehab, and Jay Higgins, fresh from the State House.

Even my sister, who rarely leaves her house, made the trip.

Blue Eyes was born on Halloween and has heard all of the jokes, thank you. She loves to hand out candy to the neighborhood urchins. But this year was special. (I am banned from mentioning her age, ever, even though she looks like a teenager.)

It was up to me to plan the weekend. I passed on horseback riding, her favorite thing. But I got reservations at the Regency, her favorite Portland hotel. We would get massages. I got the ferry schedule for Peaks Island, where we would bike or hike, depending on the weather.

The plan was to dine at the White Elephant and The Pepper Club, allegedly Portland’s best vegetarian restaurants. Anything for Blue Eyes. Even soy and tofu.

It was the best I could do … until the flu struck.

As her birthday got closer and closer, I got sicker and sicker. I hacked at her over the phone and she said, “That’s it. I’m not going.”

She stayed home alone on Halloween, her birthday, handing out candy. I was much too sick to help out.

The least I could do was to send flowers. Women love flowers, right? I waited all day for her call to exclaim about the beautiful bouquet. When 4 p.m. arrived, I called the florist. No answer. They screwed up and missed the birthday delivery.

I was doomed.

I called to explain my latest failure as she got home from work, flowerless. As she was on the phone, her doorbell rang. It was flowers, all right, but they were from Jefferson Phil, whose gesture made Pickett’s Charge complete. I could hear the drums and the cannons.

“You didn’t think I would forget your birthday, did you?” he said. I heard him over the phone.

There is nothing I can do or say to make it up to her. I tried to reschedule at the Regency but it was booked for this weekend. We got another hotel and we will go to the Green Elephant and The Pepper Club for soy and tofu. I will try jewelry. I will try anything.

Then I will murder Jefferson Phil.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.