The weather is frightful outside. You have just arrived home from a hard day at work, your feet are freezing, and your brain is fried. You collapse on the big cozy chair in front of the fireplace with a cup of hot tea and pick up a good book. Your dog sits on your feet, puts his head on your knee, and asks with warm, pleading brown eyes, “Please, please, please take me out for a walk.”
You say YES.
You are divorced and have vowed that you will raise your two young children on your own, with no help from a man, thank you very much. In fact, you have no intention of dating for quite a while. Your best friend introduces you to a tall, attractive, persistent man (he involves you in hours-long, long-distance phone conversations and acts as if you are extremely fascinating and intelligent). Ten months later, he asks you to marry him… Continue reading
I look at him across the table, thinking, who is he? Who is this tall, intense, handsome, stiff, strange man sitting with me at La Provence, eating his asparagus quiche daintily as if it were made of flower pedals?
I’ve known him for more than 30 years – intimately – and I truly have not a clue who he is. It was so much easier, when he was my baby boy, and even when he was a burgeoning almost-teenager, still giving me hard hugs at night. He told me stories about his war games with his best friend back then, and his dreams of being an importer/exporter, even though he had no idea what that meant. He was chubby, with a wonderful chuckle and a dimple as wide as a dime. Continue reading
I met an amazingly ordinary couple this week. They own their own nursery, where they grow and sell day lilies and hostas, hydrangea and roses, astilbes and lavender.
My guy and I visited their little nursery in hopes of filling in some gaps where 8-feet of snow devastated some of our flowering bushes. Although the drive was not far from our village outside of Boston, the green-hooded winding lanes, acreages of pastureland with grazing cows, a farm here, another white-spired church there, made us feel like it could just as easily be 1940, or 1840, instead of 2015. Continue reading
Shenanigans – silly or high-spirited behavior; mischief.
One of my blogging buddies told on himself right before Christmas – his wife likes her holiday decorations just a “certain way,” but this year, while she was working late, he put up the Santa Clauses and angels, the holly and trimmings, his way, before she came home.
Expecting a reprimand when she walked through the door, he was greeted instead with relief and a huge hugging thanks.
A successful shenanigan!
I commented on heylookawriterfeller’s blog that his shenanigan was successful because his wife loved him.
He commented back that “Love is all about putting up with shenanigans.”
I replied, “Love IS shenanigans.”
And then immediately I heard angelic harp music in the background of my brain as goose bumps traveled up my spine, and my soul got hit with an ‘aha’ moment. Continue reading
I walk the strangely silent town at 7 a.m. The sun is blazing this time of year, when the egrets rise with the golden orb at 5:30 a.m.
Most of the humans, however, are still blearily eyeing their cups of caffeine.
So I’m almost alone this morning with the seals and the pelicans and the few pedestrians here and there, breathing in the fresh air, enjoying the satisfying strain of muscle, but also trying to fling away the worries swarming my brain like a bunch of bees. Continue reading