It’s Curt’s birthday today. 
From the archives, here’s a post I wrote earlier.

You are my P.G. Wodehouse.

You make me snort with laughter.

You are my Conan Doyle,

A mystery until the end.

You are my C. S. Lewis.

You see how beautiful truth is.

You are my Hank the Cowdog,

Silly fun with a clever twist.

You are my Alexander McCall Smith,

Always interested in those around you.

You are my Wendell Berry.

You take pleasure in provisioning.

You are my Michael Pollan.

You speak good sense when it’s needed.

You are my Martin Luther,

Famous for good table talk.

You are my David McCullough;

Decent, insightful, articulate.

You are my Anthony Trollope,

Warm comfort on a cold evening.

You are my Shakespeare,

Full of quotes worth memorizing.

You are my Atticus Finch;

The one on whom we depend.

You are my Matthew Henry.

“Look at this,” as you point to a verse.

You are my Chilton.

You keep our cars running.

You are my Dostoevsky;

Complex, difficult, but worth the read.

You are my Jeremy Burroughs.

You model the rare jewel.

You are my Book of Common Prayer.

Your quotidian prayers lead and guide me.

You are my Chesterton;

An original thinker without the bulk.

You are my Fish and Game Regs,

A calendar of high holy days.

You are my Dickens.

You understand human nature.

You are my Dante.

You write poems of love.

You are my Cabela’s catalog;

Treasures waiting in the warehouse.

You are my favorite book to read.

Word by word;

Page by page;

Chapter by chapter.