The week just passed was, as the jazz musicians of old used to say, quite copasetic. Satisfying if not excellent.

First of all, my birthday was smack in the middle of it. On Thursday.

I got a nifty card and fifty bucks from my mother. Even though I’m now 59, and she’ll soon be 90, she still gives me a card and money. I used the money to buy a book and get my driver’s license renewed. And it was a great card. It had a mallard duck on it. This is my mother’s MO. Females get cards with flowers on the cover, males get mallard ducks.

The day started with Carol showering me with gifts. First she gave me a little bakery box filled with kolachys (Polish cookies) then she let me take a trip to the Gift Box and let me pick out one item.

The Gift Box, you ask? Yes, the Gift Box. You see, Carol buys me pants and shirts and underwear and socks on sale and then puts them in the Gift Box. And then when I need something, or if I’ve been a particularly good husband, or if it’s my birthday, she lets me pick something out. I chose a pair of light-weight khaki slacks for the summer.

Then my youngest daughter, Kary, took me out to lunch. Surprise, surprise, her husband, Brian, showed up. We ate at the Sandwich Board, a precious little place that primarily draws middle-aged women. The few men who eat there are not — like Brian — landscapers. The guy in the booth next to us was wearing sandals to show off his bright green toenails. I had tomato-cheddar soup, a reuben and a big slice of cheesecake.

That evening I had dinner with my oldest daughter, Jen, and her ever-growing family — my grandson Gabriel, Jen’s fiancé Charlie, and his two daughters, Julia and Angela. Gabriel had just graduated from kindergarten that afternoon. He kept pointing to the horizon like a Marine hitting the beach, shouting, “On to first grade!”

Anyway, we went to a Mexican restaurant, so while we were eating, the waiters snuck up behind me and put a sombrero on my head. Then they sang some cheery song in Spanish. I think it was called, “Hey, look at the goofy old gringo in the big hat.” I had the grilled chicken quesadillas. Afterwards we had Boston Cream pie and ice cream at Charlie’s house.

On Saturday, Carol’s parents took us out for my birthday lunch. I got to choose where. So I chose the Academy Tavern in Cleveland. It’s an old neighborhood bar in the Larchmere neighborhood. It’s been there since 1939 or something. Hasn’t had a lick of repair or remodeling since the day it opened. I first went there ten years ago with Cleveland’s legendary bookseller, Richard Gildenmeister. He’s a regular there. There are framed articles about of him on the walls. I had a cheeseburger, fries and cherry pie alamode.

While I was in Larchmere, I went to the Loganberry bookstore and signed up for the local author book fair on June 28. It’s part of the Larchmere Flea Market & Festival. Larchmere is one of those wonderful neighborhood were diversity is not only accepted, but celebrated. Should be fun.

Last week’s copaseticness also included attending a great book event at Akron’s downtown library. Akron Beacon-Journal columnist David Giffels was there to launch his new book for HarperCollins. It’s called All the Way Home: Building a Family in a Falling-down House. It’s about the old, over-grown mansion he and his wife bought and all the fun they’ve had making it habitable. It is a wonderful book. It’s getting lots of national attention, including NPR, ABC News, Oprah magazine and the New York Times.

I went to Giffels’ event with my friend . . . whoops he hates blogs and doesn’t want me using his name ever again . . . so let’s call him Ted, since it rhymes with his real name and it isn’t Fred. Afterwards we went out for a beer at Akron’s new downtown brewpub. Had a swell time, we did.

Last week I also had coffee with Carl Chancellor. Carl is also a reporter at the Beacon Journal. Great guy, Carl. And a very good writer. He self-published a novel a few years ago called Soul Songs. It was based on his experiences covering the Million Man March in Washington. He has now written a mystery called Gotta Find Me an Angel. Not exactly a cozy. But very good. No doubt his agent will find a publisher for him. No doubt at all.

I also found out last week that my Writing That Novel class at the University of Akron is a go for the summer. Eleven students so far. To shake things up this summer — and maybe get some people who can’t take a week-day course — I’m holding it Saturday mornings at an off-campus coffee shop. Should be very cool. The class starts this Saturday and immediately afterwards Carol and I are heading for Owensboro, Kentucky for the big Kentucky Mystery Writers Festival.

Let’s see, what else?

Oh, yeah. I had a very good writing week. I’m working on my Cleveland-theater-ghost-story-novel, Another Fine Night at the Zauberwald. I’m currently writing a chapter set in 1931, against the backdrop of Prohibition and jazz in after-hours clubs. With the help of veteran Cleveland TV newsman and NPR jazz host Joe Mosbrook, I’ve got some wonderful stuff on a once-famous speakeasy called Val’s in the Alley. For you jazz fans, it’s where the legendary Art Tatum got his start. My character Muzzy Ginsberg is playing his clarinet with Art there right now. Little does he know that in a few days he’s going to drown while trying to drive a Model T full of illegal hooch across the Lake Erie ice.

I have saved the best part of my week for last. And that, of course, is the new anti-barking collar Carol bought for our noisy sheltie, Dudley. It is a citronella collar. That’s right, when Dudley goes on a barking jag, it sprays him in the face with that nasty smell. Cost us $48. It reacts to the vibration in his throat. Bark! Spritz! Bark, Spritz!

It worked pretty well for a day or two. Not so good now. And we can’t figure out why. And it isn’t out of citronella either. I’m guessing that soon it will go into our dog gizmo museum. If someone comes out with something dumb and totally worthless for dogs, we’ve got at least one.

Back when it was still working – last Sunday – we took the dogs with us to Carol’s parents for lunch. On the way we stopped at the supermarket for some asparagus to grill. As usual, we parked far, far away from the store so the dogs wouldn’t go crazy every time another car came by.

I went in for the little green stems and Carol stayed in the car with the dogs. When I returned, Carol was laughing and crying at the same time. The dogs had been so bad, jumping and barking at passing cars, that Carol had to restrain Dudley in her lap. Which meant that every time he barked, she got a face full of citronella. On top of that — how can I put this — nature was calling. And on top of that, when she tried to start the car to run the air conditioning, the car wouldn’t start. There we were in no-man’s-land with two crazy dogs, a woman who had to pee, spritzing citronella, a car that wouldn’t start and a husband laughing like a hyena.

Luckily we had a cell phone and could call Carol’s dad. I put up the hood and paced around the car while we waited for him to show up with his jumper cables. More than one Good Samaritan pulled up to ask if they could help. Which each time set off the dogs and the citronella and Carol’s pinching bladder anew. One guy who pulled up had the appearance of being a husband for a very long time. When he rolled down the window I bent down and whispered, “Need another wife and a couple of dogs?”

He looked into our car and studied my family. “I like the dogs,” he said.

Then the dogs started their barking and jumping. “The dogs are off the table, too,” he said, flashing that there-but-for-the-grace-of-God-go-I grin that I know so very well.

Oh, it was a good week.