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| yOU GUYS ARE THE BESTEST! |
| 07.31.04 (3:08 pm) [edit] |
To all who cheered me on, thanks. You are the greatest.
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| Mine eyes have seen the glory and the bright red flash |
| 07.31.04 (3:02 pm) [edit] |
So yeah, I could not refrain from typing a note even with plastic shields taped over my lids and excruciating pain in my right eye. I kind of thought with those who read regularly, and who wished me well, that I owed them a "hello, I lived to tell the tale" post. Which I did, at an early hour sometime this morning. Now, I hate to whinge, but when I was rudely awakened with the hot poker in the eye thingy yet again, while on 2 valium and another sleeping pill, and some advil, it became clear to me that something was wrong.
It was. I can't explain it, but the surgeon was clearly distressed at what HE saw. Enough that he fitted that eye with a temp contact lens and 2 more scrips. AND I am to go back tomorrow - on his parents 50th anniversary weekend so he can recheck and if ANYTHINg happens in the meantime.... I have home and cell number to call. So truth be told, I was not being such a big baby.
With the new temp lens and meds, the difference is 450% billion better. I no longer wish to set fire to my foot to distract me from my eye.
AND my darling sweet Henry stopped by to check on me.... and brought me Shang Hai bok choy. How sweet is that!
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| Brigtht LIHGTS |
| 07.31.04 (2:07 am) [edit] |
Thanks to all who wished me well trhough this laskik surgery.
I am blogginhg with my eyes closed, so forgive any typos. My eyes are covered with plastic shileds in which there are a number of holes fro air transfer. AND in the case of the right eye, tear transfer. Producution is up. That eye is making tears faster than the Just Bonr company whips out peeps come March.
I am OK, The right eye feels like there is a shard of hair covered glass in it. Can;t open it much. Light huts pretty good. I feel like Gizmo.
But, I am grateful for all of you and for my support system here. Thankfully, Henry saw fit to pressure me into calling in the cavalry. I resigned myself to following directions. Now I am grateful as hell that I did. And folks, Blazing Saddles is STILL funny as all get out even if you are just listening.
So now, I am wide awake, with an hour to go before I can go to have them say " oh this is all perfectly normal" Here, try THESE drops and the dorops will be the magic potion that causes the log to float out of the right eye.
Now, the LEFT eye is grreat. I can actually SEE already. It does not hurt. It does not tear up. So there is hope. Soon this "minor discomfort" will abate. Seems to me I remember them referring to labor pains as mild discomfort. Why did I forget thaat?
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| Na Na nana na na na na Hey hey -goodbye GLASSES |
| 07.30.04 (4:04 am) [edit] |
The contact lens/glasses waltz began over 20 years ago. It is now to a point where I am in trifocals. I am sick of it.
In about 3 hours I will be undergoing laser surgery to correct my vision. Yes, it is a bit scary. Yes, I did my homework and found the best person in the area. Yes, it is expensive.... but so is my current plan in which I spend over $500.00 annually for something that I am not all that enamored with - namely - yet more pairs of glasses.
So to all who wished me luck, I thank you. I will let you know how it went and report on what to expect as soon as I am able to do so.
Let me tell you this: pre - op ---- means no makeup nor scent. YIKES!!! Henry gets to see me in broad daylight sans makeup. Now, I know what you are all thinking, and I tell you - when we are smooching on the couch, it is by candlelight and mood music. My Henry is THE single most romantic man on the face of the earth and the music reflects that. So I *know* that perhaps there have been times when every hair was not in place and maybe my lipstick was smudged...... but those closest to me can attest (April, chime in anytime) it is a hugely important big deal to me.
Which reminds me..... many years ago, my beloved mother, bless her little heart, had to undergo gall bladder surgery. Now, mother went through a phase where she hated her hair and wore a wig. EVERY DAY she wore a wig. She was convinced that my stepfather had not clue number one that she wore a wig. She also wore dentures and he purportedly was ignorant of that detail as well.
Well, the morning of the surgery, she is being wheeled into the surgical suite on a gurney and is wigless and plateless and very very embarassed. AND still maintains that Tommy must not know!!! Cute mommy.
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| Na Na nana na na na na Hey hey -goodbye GLASSES |
| 07.30.04 (4:03 am) [edit] |
The contact lens/glasses waltz began over 20 years ago. It is now to a point where I am in trifocals. I am sick of it.
In about 3 hours I will be undergoing laser surgery to correct my vision. Yes, it is a bit scary. Yes, I did my homework and found the best person in the area. Yes, it is expensive.... but so is my current plan in which I spend over $500.00 annually for something that I am not all that enamored with - namely - yet more pairs of glasses.
So to all who wished me luck, I thank you. I will let you know how it went and report on what to expect as soon as I am able to do so.
Let me tell you this: pre - op ---- means no makeup nor scent. YIKES!!! Henry gets to see me in broad daylight sans makeup. Now, I know what you are all thinking, and I tell you - when we are smooching on the couch, it is by candlelight and mood music. My Henry is THE single most romantic man on the face of the earth and the music reflects that. So I *know* that perhaps there have been times when every hair was not in place and maybe my lipstick was smudged...... but those closest to me can attest (April, chime in anytime) it is a hugely important big deal to me.
Which reminds me..... many years ago, my beloved mother, bless her little heart, had to undergo gall bladder surgery. Now, mother went through a phase where she hated her hair and wore a wig. EVERY DAY she wore a wig. She was convinced that my stepfather had not clue number one that she wore a wig. She also wore dentures and he purportedly was ignorant of that detail as well.
Well, the morning of the surgery, she is being wheeled into the surgical suite on a gurney and is wigless and plateless and very very embarassed. AND still maintains that Tommy must not know!!! Cute mommy.
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| Thursday Night and Oh! Henry! |
| 07.29.04 (6:56 pm) [edit] |
I must make this VERY quick. Henry will want me to be in bed 15 minutes ago. As you may recall, today was our date night. Dinner and a movie at the House of Heni.
I will fill you in on all of the details later. Suffice it to say that we just seem to have the most wonderful times together. Dinner was wonderful, spectacular, superlative.
There are some details that I won't share - but - that couch that was the scene of that first kiss? Well, there were more kisses on that couch.
There are definately more kisses in our future.
AND in the morning, he will be here bright and early to take me for my eye surgery. AND then bring me home and tuck me in.
So wish me luck and I am off to shower again, to be sure that I don't have any traces of scent or makeup on me for the morning.
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| Sabbaticals, Cheesy Goodness, and toast |
| 07.29.04 (1:40 am) [edit] |
It is very early in the land of Pudlin. The sky outside is dark and the dogs are still sleeping. Of course, I awakened - just about overslept my 3:17 by an hour. So now, I am officially UP.
Reading Andaloo's description of a small place awakening had me all absorbed. I can almost see the street sweeper, hear the cheerful yelling in the cafe between waiters, and see the woman smiling the workers into the building. The cool part is the 10am biz.
"You must be at your desk by 10am".
I think I could do that.
But for the moment, I am thoroughly enjoying this sabbatical that I have chosen to give myself permission to take.
I have not worked now for a couple of weeks and I have liked it. A LOT. Now, truth be told, I am writing like a woman possessed. I am doing loads of research to be sure that I am accurate. But I don't get up and get dressed and go somewhere to do it.
This old house has been busy falling down around my ears for the past 4 years. There are a number of projects (the kitchen, the gardens, the bathroom, the garage, the fence) that are too large for me to handle without hiring the appropriately skilled work force. In order for them to perform these repairs, I have to decide on colors, styles, and a million other details and I need to be here.
A friend left me a message the other day on my answering machine. She is a little freaked that I quit my job. While I appreciate her concern, I am really the only one who can ultimately determine what is best for me. Right now, I am doing what I need to do in order to be happy and healthy. I am taking some time to put my house in order.
I will likely go back to work because I want to and because I can. But I can go back to work with the knowledge that my fence is solid and my dogs won't be escaping through the cracks and running around the block. That my house is not on the neighborhood association's list of "gee if only she would put in a plant and fix the screens" list. That my kitchen sink does not have the opportunity to drop to the floor below.
YES the sink may do that. There is no countertop left behind it. The years of water on the back board have taken their toll. The sink bolts have rusted out and the only thing holding it up is the plumbing. It is only a matter of time.
But about the cheesy goodness. I have this incredible urge for a cheese omelet. So I am going to wander down and whip one up. Along with toast. And then, I am going to watch the sun come up on this brilliant Thursday morning.
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| Is it Thursday YET??? |
| 07.28.04 (6:09 pm) [edit] |
Henry has been working every evening since we arrived back from St. Augustine on Sunday. His first day off is Thursday.
I was afforded many options of how to spend Thursday. Truth be told, if Heni wants to rotate his tires on Thursday and needs me to hold the bolts... well...
The plan is that he will be preparing dinner au deaux. Lucky ME! Maybe a movie a la Indochine.
For me, the bottom line is spending time with my ain true Boo. Him what has enscribed his name across my heart. He calls the shots. He gets to pick. Stick a fork in me, I am done. He is the best, surely the best.
I have gone through the depths of despair. I have truly challenged the grim reaper. I have been in that black abyss for so long that I believed I had rotted.
Somehow, I came back from that. And to find that there might be a light at the end of the tunnel that is not the train...... who am I to deserve such a fate as to be loved so well, so often? So arrogant am I!!! Shockingly arrogant! My actions do not deserve the first, yet there it is. Tangibly, Joseph loved me. Cared for me, took great measures for me.
Most would be satisfied with that. But no, I beseech my love to send me someone. And as if by clicking my heels...
Who am I! Indeed! I must think this through!!!
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| The KITCHEN - The next Frontier |
| 07.28.04 (5:36 pm) [edit] |
This old house needs a new kitchen. Joseph and I discussed it , planned it, looked at a million pictures.
It was not meant to be.
Until now. I am redoing the kitchen in white beadboard cabinets with a sink that is reminiscent of 1940 when the house was built.
I am totally JAZZED.
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| Now this is a shoe of an entirely different color! |
| 07.28.04 (5:29 pm) [edit] |
Remembering my mother:
Who was not a morning person.
Who spoke at a very large function.
Who later that day went bowling with her girlfriend
Who noticed that mommy was wearing one black, one navy shoe.
Moral: if the shoe fits - buy it in every color.
Cheers mommy. I love you, miss you, think of you daily. Every time I put on shoes!!!
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| DOCTOR MY EYES |
| 07.28.04 (5:17 pm) [edit] |
So there is a plan in place. Many of you who have known me to be just so achingly independent that I scared my mother nearly out of twelve years growth, my sister who frequently experienced me choosing the most evil horse in the bunch to ride, the ones who were present when I did those crazy things that I am wont to do.
Something has changed.
On Friday I am having minor elective surgery. Lasik to relieve me of the glasses that have cramped my style for the past 30 some odd years.
I have asked my darling Boo to take me, scheduled it so that he could be there. I should be finished by noon at which point I should sleep for at least 4 hours, preferably 6.
Sister is coming to look after me... I thought she might be here by 8. Heni was concerned. After all, I have this funky old cottage built by the Keebler elves. It is a hollow 3 story tree. His concern is me falling down stairs while attempting to navigate the bathroom.
I called in the Cavalry - Carol.
So the plan: Henry takes me to surgery, brings me home, tucks me in. He leaves - Carol arrives shortly thereafter, sits and waits. Sister arrives. She and Carol watch movies, whatever.
I get up, whizzle, go back to sleep, get up Saturday able to see long distances.
But- I am grateful for any number of things.
1. Henry cares enough to worry and is willing to chance torqueing me about asking who would be with me.
2. Sister is willing to drive about 2.5 hours to watch me sleep.
3. Carol is willing to come and make me mac and cheese that I probably won't eat until way later.
That I have these who care about me. How lucky a girl am I!!!!
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| My HOT date |
| 07.27.04 (5:03 pm) [edit] |
For tonight, my HOT date was with this really cool guy. He is sensitive, funny, very very very cute. He is my grandson Justin.
Daughter and Justin arrived around 6. We had no plans, other than to spend time together. Justin is entering MIDDLE SCHOOL in September. Girls and everything.
Where did the years go? Just a couple of days ago I was looking at this sweet baby boy. Now, he is rapidly approaching puberty. I am too young to be a grandma. I am not adequately prepared!
He thinks that I invented the moon. He thinks I am "interesting". We have had elaborate tea parties. We have sewn things, cooked things, read things together. He is my sensitive boy. My first born, my most special boy. Watching him grow has been an education in and of itself.
He very vaguely remembers Joseph, his Zayde. He tries... truly he does. But he was only eight years old. And the times we spent were sporadic.
He tries to be sensitive to my feelings and he is just a little boy. He, just tonight, standing in my bedroom as I showed he and his mother my super duper sound machine mentioned death. His mother stood frozen - poor girl- she feels that she must act as intermediary. But of course he would say silly things. She needs to give him, and me, larger credit than that. I am ok. I can see that Justin is ok. If he says the D word, he does not do it to hurt me. Girl needs to relax. He is my grandson. His words do not sting.
I had the sublime pleasure of spending time with my grandson tonight. Nuff said.
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| Adapting - The Requirements of Lasik |
| 07.26.04 (7:05 pm) [edit] |
Genteel reader- I reiterate that my intention is to have lasik surgery Friday coming up.
Seems pretty clear cut (truthfully, it seems ornate and requires topographic maps of my corneas, but I digress).
It requires that I suit up (in something warm that could easily be removed - sweats???)
That I not use any perfumed substance or hairspray nor that the person that accompanies me does either.
AND here is the kicker : NO MAKEUP -
Can you say OUCH! I thought you could. So Boo gets to see me sans makeup. YIKES!
He has had the sublime pleasure of seeing me with my very attractive retainer in place.....
Mebbe I should enlarge a photo and put it on a popsicle stick. Cut out eye holes. Make an SofP mask, if you will.
BUT WAIT! Here is another thing: No ceiling fans for 3 months afterward - very drying. Now - I sleep with a stand fan that oscillates. That is, I did sleep with that fan. I think I might want to put it in the garage for a while..... good thing that I have recently gotten that sound machine with the fountain...
With my marked propensity for sleeplessness, I would be a goner. I would be able to see that I was a goner, nonetheless.
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| Those Japanese are VERY clever! |
| 07.26.04 (5:54 pm) [edit] |
A couple of things:
New variation on scavenger hunt- I defy you to find something in a Florida touristy type shop that is NOT made in China. Now, I have become aware that some very very good things are "made" in China (my Boo for one). So you might enjoy this one. Just try and find some bobble or thing NOT made in China. If you do, you have my permission to buy it and add it to your clutter collection.
Secondly, one of the things (there are several) that Henry says that just crack me up is: those Japanese are very clever! I am at a loss for the why that this is funny... but it hits me every time. Then again, I crack up every time I get his contrived "shocked" look, so what is that....
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| My Morning Poetry |
| 07.26.04 (4:06 pm) [edit] |
This mornings email (sent after midnight last night) from my precious Heni so that*I* would know that he was thinking of me as he went to sleep. I ask you, gentle reader, could he be more romantic? I think not!
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And off that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heavens to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens over her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and over that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days of goodnes spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
Lord Byron
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| Dumping my GLASSES!!! |
| 07.26.04 (3:34 pm) [edit] |
Today I had an appointment to be assessed for Lasik surgery. I am scheduled for Friday morning. By Saturday, I will need only over the counter glasses for close detail reading - like those pesky census' that consume me.
Gentle Reader, if you are a member of my father's family, you are descended from a bunch of people who bore a whole passel of children without the benefit of a wedding of any sort. All over Massachusetts my family was breeding like flies. For an amatuer geneologist such as yours truly, this bodes badly for successfully tracking down the fathers of these poor children.
But I digress. Back to my orbs... errrrr eyes. Now, it is necessary for me to be driven there and back because - well - it is obviously necessary. Furthermore, on Saturday morning I have to go back to have the shields removed. So I asked my darling Boo if he would consider this task and he agreed to do it.... which means he will have to see me THREE DAYS IN A ROW! Poor guy! First, Thursday is his day off and he had already asked me for my dance card. Then, I add insult to injury and ask this????
But, gentleman that he is, he has agreed to the following terms: He will take me to surgery and then for the recheck the following day if and only if I go over to his house on Thursday so that he can make me a steak dinner and watch a movie. Also something about a massage.... and some kisses.... maybe some handholding and snuggles.....Can you believe it?
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| THAT Smile Makes it all Worthwhile and other news |
| 07.26.04 (3:26 pm) [edit] |
[image]SusanofPudlin_1617 04308.jpg[/image]
More on St. Augustine and the state of the world from this corner of the House of Pudlin.
1. THAT smile - could it be any better than that? I ask you, gentle reader, how could he be any cuter? So more on St. Augustine. Our room was nice, the company engaging and fun and delightful. Heni is an EXCELLENT navigator and as with tea, and other details, keeps track of parking meter issues and the like. Frees me up to do more shopping!
There was a place that had a female vocalist we could hear singing, and she was quite good. I still have her version of Cheryl Crow's cover of First Cut running in my head. Alas, the kitchen there was already closed. So we had dinner on the patio next door where we could still hear her and our dinner was quite enjoyable. Note: Heni does NOT like heavily breaded ANYthing, never mind shrimp. Next time - remind him that he is gonna hate it. Second note: he's cute as all get out buzzed....
AND on the way back, we stopped in Orlando, picked up sissy and went to a real nice Thai restaurant for lunch. So you can all wander over to MIMI's blog and get the lowdown, the scoop, the whole Heni gory story - as she sees it.
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| Buy Lots of Postcards |
| 07.25.04 (11:04 pm) [edit] |
Dear Gentle Reader,
Remember the snarky little comment Lynne made and my response which went something along the lines of: Buy lots of postcards and make mental note to get history of locale so when asked you can pretend that you did *sightseeing*?
Hehehe - we were cruising around St. Augustine in the little shops and such. Heni sees a rack of postcards and in his inimitable way says "buy LOTS of postcards". Took me a minute to realize what he meant.....
I bought lots of postcards. Mostly so that I can put together some scrapbook pages of our trip, our first trip of many with any luck at all. [image]SusanofPudlin_1082 514292.jpg[/image]
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| the Ghost in the Window |
| 07.25.04 (10:20 pm) [edit] |
[image]SusanofPudlin_3497 64953.jpg[/image]
Here we are in front of what is *supposed* to be a haunted location in St. Augustine. Apparently, sometimes in pictures, a woman appears in the window above our heads.
That is Heni on the left, me on the right.
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| Heni After Dark Part Deaux - The SILK |
| 07.25.04 (4:04 pm) [edit] |
Imagine, dear gentle reader, my utter amazement and surprise, when after spending a thoroughly splendid day and evening together - I realize I am being sort of "anti-climatic" here but I will backtrack:
We have arrived to our hotel room, fed, entertained and happy. We have been on the road for many hours, and walking about for more. Our dinner has left us satiated and we are eager for bed.
Heni says: " oh, I have something for you.... "
I, of course, am intrigued.... what might it be?
" I asked my niece in Hong Kong to send it" and he reaches into his bag and pulls out a small pink parcel. He opens it and unfolds a short silk kimono of the softest pink - the pink of the inside of a baby's ear, or maybe a seashell. Nonetheless, the softest most beautiful pink silk kimono with a special weave of florals and characters that is so splendid..............
THIS is the essence of my beloved Boo. That he will be attentive to that devil in the details and see my tea cup is getting low and refill it. That he wonders if I am too warm, hungry, missing my furry babies... want to talk to my sister. This is what makes my diminutive Heni stand head and shoulders above all men in my eyes. My much adored sweet Boo pays attention. He is there, present, accounted for. He is intrinsically aware of what I may be thinking, what I might need, what interests me and how to be sure to please me.
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| Heni After Dark.... |
| 07.25.04 (3:42 pm) [edit] |
Gentle reader,
As you may surmise, I have returned from St. Augustine refreshed and gratified and looking much like a Cheshire cat with a mouth full of canary. Please excuse the yellow feathers that cling to my lips.
Let me give you an overview of our very special, romantic, and totally -thoroughly- incredibly enjoyable trip to St. Augustine.
We left Saturday morning, after stopping for a bowl of Pho' with the sense of adventure suitable for framing.
We drove until about 2 or thereabouts, when we stopped for our picnic lunch. Oh dear reader, what a romantic picnic that was!!! I had packed a roasted chicken, some fruit, salad, and a bottle of vino. We had such a delightful time on the roadside at a rest stop.
Then on again on again... and we arrived. We found our hotel, were greeted warmly and showed our room. We tossed in our suitcases and other things and headed to where the action is: the beach. We took a stroll on the beach (note - both prefer the beaches on the West Coast where we can watch sunsets) and took multitudinous photos of each other and begged total strangers to take pictures of us together.
On to the downtown. We went to the area frequented by horse drawn carraiges... took lots of photos... of course, as so frequently happens, a brand new bride and groom went by, and I wished them luck. In my mind, I was hoping that they find nearly as much happiness as Joseph and I had found.... happiness with the HAP.
We went on to find that the little side streets were teeming with fun shops and things to see. At one point, my Heni said "LOOK SHOES!!!" as if he had found the holy grail. Of course, I am game, go in - find a shoe store infested to the rafters with shoes handmade in Spain. I bought a pair of pink leather espradilles for 10% off - 41. American - cute as all get out - fun with shorts or skirts.
We continue on, perusing the local color, snapping pictures with the THREE cameras on board. From time to time we return to the car to unload stuff, stuff meter, get more discs. We find a coffee place and tea room and I get a Darjeeling on ice. The patio is so very pleasant. Some misguided individuals enter, he says - under his breath... you must be mistaken, this garden is taken...
MORE IN POST TWO TO FOLLOW
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| The Adventure Continues - St. Augustine |
| 07.23.04 (5:31 pm) [edit] |
We leave in the morning for St. Augustine... for the weekend... and for the first time that we will be together in the same vicinity overnight. I feel like blushing! Go figure.
We decided to take this trip on that fateful bike ride over the 4th of July weekend. That was QUITE the weekend. As we were pedaling along, talking about possible trips... I want to go to India... we began talking about weekend getaways and one tank trips. I remembered St. Augustine, with it's rich history and mystery. So I mentioned it. AND he was game. BUT I stated inequivicably then, and reiterated it, that I would only go if we shared expenses. He has been giving me a bad time about that ever since. My mind is made up and so is his, how cute - our first impasse!
That 4th of July weekend we spent a lot of time together, getting closer and closer with each passing day. When I say that, I mean that I feel completely comfortable calling him if I need or want something.
When we are together, I am delighted. When we are apart, I am looking forward to seeing him the next time. When I dropped the VCR on my wrist and thought it was broken, he was the one I called for reassurance. When I am out in the bay looking at the Pier from a different view, it is he that I want to share it with. [image]SusanofPudlin_1207 264915.jpg[/image]
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| Keep them Cards and Letters Coming! |
| 07.23.04 (4:05 pm) [edit] |
[image]SusanofPudlin_7339 53538.jpg[/image]
Yesterday's mail brought two fabulous cards. One from a dear friend, one from my sister.
Both are cherished and are currently hanging from my perfectly wonderful bulletin board. Ooooh la la!
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| Sailing around the Pier |
| 07.23.04 (1:50 pm) [edit] |
today was just to gawdjus to not do it. So, I went kayaking and sailed around the Pier.
The wind was light, and I pedelled most of the time. Hobie Wan Kanobi is a dream in the water. It is so peaceful out there. Sometimes I just let the current take me where it is wont to go.
I toodled around the pier, and watched some of the small planes leaving St. Pete's little Albert Whitted airport. Such a cool thing to have an airport on the waterfront! I wandered into the yacht basin and asked a couple of the guys if they wanted to race. They, of course, knowing I would KICK BUTT, declined.
Then I headed out to see what I might see. As soon as I got out of the channel, there was a massive fish diaspora. There must have been hundreds of them, because there were a bunch jumping into the air. Then, minutes later, I saw what I thought was a dolphin. Naturally, I wanted to get closer and play with it..... and the closer I got, the more obvious it became that it was not rolling in the water the way dolphins do..... indeed, its dorsal fin was maintaining the same vertical position.... in circles. Mostly because it was not so much a dolphin as it was a shark.
An amazing thing happens in my brain when I see something that may be harmful, like say, water moccasins, rattlesnakes, guns and sharks. They become gigantic instantly. So don't ask me what size shark this guy was. When you are in a little boat and can reach out and touch the water, indeed my feet are in water that comes up from the bottom..... it gives one pause. [image]SusanofPudlin_5181 1554.jpg[/image]
So this is what the Pier looks like from MY side of the street.
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| Admit it! YOU WANT to KNOW! |
| 07.22.04 (7:16 pm) [edit] |
Date "day" with my darling Heni-
Today was Henry's day off. He gets one day off and every other weekend. So we had planned to spend some quality time together today.
Henry and I spoke this morning, and set up a time of between 2 and 3. PERFECT. Gives me time to do MY things- writing, 27 Fling Boogieing, and the other things that I do.
Our tentative plan is dinner and a movie. Have DVD will travel.
We went to Sam's club, since they told me when I ponied up $35 American, that I could have anyone else... friend, relative, whatever - join the party..
When we arrived, that changed. We must "live together" as in share an address. Not a happening thing. We are many things... friends, confidantes, lovers, not so much are two individuals in our station in life going to lie to get a "discount" on a membership. But that is not important.
What IS monumentally important is that we had another remarkable amount of time together. We wandered through Sam's Club - and I coveted a refrigerator - the MOST expensive in the lot- and made him laugh. I LOVE to make him laugh. His laugh is warm and comes from his heart and it warms ME through and through to hear it. He thoroughly enjoyed that my radar picked the single most expensive refrigerator in the mix. AND he loved pointing out a similar finish in a side by side - for which I duly beat him senseless about the head and shoulders... but I digress.
So, datewise, how we doing so far? Sam's Club... hmmm... MY recomendation was that we return to the Salon De Pud to view the DVD selection de jour.
My darling sweet baboo has chosen a light and airy comedy for our viewing pleasure. Perhaps he knows me better than I do. He chooses Sabrina. Now - I ask you, gentle reader, when he wrote yesterday and used the term of endearment Sabina - was that a Freudian slip?
To be sure, I did thoroughly enjoy watching Sabrina on DVD in my own parlor with my ain true Boo.
We have discussed at length the proper number of toppings on pizza. We ordered same. It was delivered. We partook of same. It was sublime.
And then he kissed me. That kiss enveloped all that was written in all of Henry Miller, Goethe, Hemingway, and the better part of the old Testament.
That kiss stole the show, stopped traffic, made the market crash.
Gentle reader, you - astute gentle reader that you are, careful to read between lines that you are, you know that when he kisses me- the following may occur:
the whales begin to sing to the other whales in that haunting whale melody. Dolphins playfully launch into the air and they do that haahahahahahah thing that they do. Colicky babies, at mother's breast are soothed and go to sleep finally. All is right with the world.
And so it is, and so it shall be.
I have had the delightful prose of one Heni for the best part of yet another day, lucky me.
I adore him. I cherish him. I want only the best part of being alive for him.
I am so very fortunate in so many ways. I was loved before, loved well by my Joseph....
I prayed that he might send me someone. Perhaps my Heni is that someone.
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| The Book, The Romance, The Research |
| 07.21.04 (7:15 pm) [edit] |
#1. I have been working VERY hard on the book. Currently at 24 pages, it is beginning to be readable - if you don't look too closely, AND you don't mind lousy fiction. But I am determined to write my grandmother's story, and her story is part of my story and so on.
#2. Have I mentioned a particularly important person lately? Well sir, things are moving along swimmingly. I am enjoying myself immensely and often. (You, gentle reader who is so very adept at reading between the lines - you got some line reading to do.) My most cherished and adored Heni is attentive, spectacularly witty, and generally just the living end. He is about the best thing since night baseball, and sliced bread. We spend inordinate amounts of time volleying emails while he works. This is most pleasant. Lots of compliments and sweet talk. AND I get to see him tomorrow!!! Yippee!!!
3. The research - geneology. Should my sister read this... I have found gramma's (Alice) father's father's grandparents. I am now back to near the Revolutionary War on that branch. And how cool is this: Gramma's Grandfathers fathers name was Pardon Tripp. He was born in 1799 and married Sarah in 1823. They had a whole passel of young'uns and were in Massachusetts the whole time.
AND now, gentle readers... this tired girl is going to bed. I can't remember in recent times being this tired. But good tired....
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| Radisson, Crate & Barrel, Tiffany, William Sonoma and Pier One |
| 07.21.04 (1:31 pm) [edit] |
The fab five - stocks.
Lately, I have been thinking about money.... a lot..... and I have come to the conclusion that I must arm myself with information in order to not get ripped off by "financial advisors" like that scalliwag that I listened to yesterday at that seminar.
While thinking about money, and reading Smart Women Finish Rich by David Bach, I have been thinking about stocks that I have owned and stocks that I made money on and how I came to choose them. Home Depot was very very good to me. At one time, I owned some Isuzu, but it was sold before I could realize any growth. GTE was very very very good to me.
Mr. Bach, who wrote Smart Women Finish Rich, bought his first stock based on the fact that he liked their hamburgers. He did well with that purchase.
But I did not get in on the McDonalds ground floor. What I want, gentle reader, is to figure out the next hot commodity. Where are we headed?
And then, I read an article in another feminist women's magazine about weddings. About how this has become such a huge industry and the recent spawn of related items, such as the dearth of magazines now available. Mostly weddings for the very wealthy and the huge industry that weddings have become.... but also there was mention of another trend.... gay marriages.
Now, that is something to consider. Look carefully at the companies I mentioned. Even IF gay marriages are only "civil unions" there is likely to be a whole new flurry of "Groomal" registering in those fine retail establishments. I can see it now. The groom and the groom are registered at Crate and Barrel. OR the bride and bride are registered at Pier One. The registry is nationwide, so whatever you choose here in Florida can easily be sent to them from our Massachusetts store.
Oh and hey, let's add Target to the list while we are at it. They have that really cool designer line of housewares that should be quite popular among the more fashion conscious.
So that said, and all things being equal, I think I might just go stock shopping. One more thing, I really, genuinely, and emphatically wish to point out that I don't give a fig whether you think gay marriage is right, wrong or indifferent. I just want to finish rich.
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| Who Left The Platypus on the Stairs? |
| 07.20.04 (7:30 pm) [edit] |
The Title has little bearing on the content. That being said, some errant dog did leave a stuffed platypus where I could do a quick and not so graceful three point landing. For which the Russian judge might give me an 8.
Today's adventure on the Henry and Susan show was a seminar and lunch at the Don Cesar. The Don is a beautiful hotel that was once a veterans hospital. I am not making this up.
Henry arrived promptly at 10am with a cobalt blue glass fish for me. He must stop this at once. I made the mistake of pointing out that he has never arrived empty handed. He must read this and know I mean BUSINESS! This must stop - except for things that glitter....no wait! I did not say that!!! No. Truly, the list of acceptable things is as follows: flowers - but only if from his personal garden, cd's but only if burned from his personal collection, mangoes from his personal tree.
So - we had plans to attend a financial planning seminar with lunch thrown in.
He arrived looking quite handsome and all cute and stuff.... We went to the Don. Got all checked into the seminar. We were seated with another couple and a couple of ladies who began complaining nearly immediately that they were cold. By the end of lunch, I was ready to suggest that they sit closer to me, that my own little personal premenopausal furnace could provide more than adequate compensation for the air conditioning. But by that time they had ticked me off to the point that I would not have helped them out of quicksand. On a good day, when I was feeling generous.
So the speaker begins giving her powerpoint presentation. Heni and I begin writing little notes to each other.
Roth IRA, I note - followed by "I want to kiss you"
Spoiled ROTTEN he writes.
Whose fault is THAT, I respond
CREDIT - Who should get credit - he answers.
After the dog and pony show, the woman comes to me and says " Haven't I seen you someplace before?"
I say "did you want to?"
She says "maybe at another of my seminars? At the Wine Cellar?"
No.... and thank you for insinuating that I would take advantage of a free meal repetitively in front of total strangers, AND my Boo! Now... this woman wants me to use her services as a financial planner??? Hmmm. Things that make you go "hmmmm".
She continues... what do you do?
I am a paralegal.
I saw you writing a lot of notes....
I giggle...
Why are you giggling?
Because the notes I was writing were between he and I? Do you get it? We were bored with your haphazard presentation and we were writing little love notes? Now do you get it??? I hope so, because about my investment business, you are not so much going to get IT.
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| Heni's Response |
| 07.20.04 (6:39 pm) [edit] |
And when I requested permission to post our personal email here, he said the following which I share with you to demonstrate how very truly astounding a person he is and how very frighteningly similar our thinking is. This from my darling Heni:
And of course, why would you need anyone's permission to do the right thing! Post it on your blog by all means. Everyone needs to wake up, or get a jolt now and then. Reality bites. We trade convenience, comfort, and expediency for quality of life, strength of character, and independence of body and spirit. Now and again, we assauge our guilt with a token of good deeds, performed in our own slightly tarnished self-image. It took over a thousand years for the once al-mighty Roman Empire to decline and disintegrate. It may take this great and glorious country of ours a similar time span. Complacency starts out as an symptom, before winding up as a full blown disease. Prolonged peace, contentment, and comfort bleed deterioration, degeneration, and decay. We will probably not be conquered by barbarian hordes knocking at our gates until our core has grown completely rotten from within. So, rant on, Sweet Pie, rant on!
When you are made Empress, all these may change, except for what lies in the hearts of men, which had not changed since Day One, long before Machivalli wrote his "Prince".
"the first royal edict will be: all men will wear kilts." I like that, and so do the Royal Scottish Brigade!
Hugs AND kisses.
Yours truly.
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| SofP RANTS and Raves |
| 07.20.04 (6:35 pm) [edit] |
The following is an email that I sent to my most darling Boo earlier this evening in response to a comment he made about the general decline in caring among nursing staff at the hospital where he is currently filling scrips.
My Boo!
I think that work ethics have gone through gentrification, if you will. I think as a society, that this latest generation has been the "it's all about me, enough about you, let's talk about me" group.
Little thought is given to such archaic concepts as respect, kindness, and niceness. With the advent of the internet, and the increase of speed of exchange of communication and information, we have, as a world order, become addicted to that hurry up mentality. No one spends time just sitting and thinking anymore. Instead of taking in the whole being of a baby, it's like they are flipping through a photo album of the baby going "oh, cute, cute, cute, cuter - done - let's go on to the next thing.
Recently, in passing, I said to you: "chop wood, carry water." You knew what I meant. The rest of the world would have looked at me as if I needed my dose of Thorazine and with a knowing look at the others present... backed away quietly.
No one wants to make pies anymore. Too easy to go buy one. AND now you can buy frozen individual slices of pie. Oh how perfect is that! Now we can all eat alone. No one appreciates a homemade pie anymore. Too many calories, and no concept of the work and talent that go into the making. The Pillsbury Bake Off - which used to be a huge deal in my salad days has become a pathetic display of Hamburger Helper mentality. Where in years past, cooks pulled out the best and went from square one, churning out pies and 7 layer cakes and all sorts of fabulous treats in the hope of winning that million dollar prize, now the catagories include such quick tosses of prepared food that it is an insult to call it "cooking". Wow - I am off on a rant, am I not?
And why go to the effort to make a quilt? When you can buy one that some poor Mexican woman was paid $100.00 annual salary to produce quilts by the dozen? Why sew a button back on when you can send it to the cleaner? We have become a fast food nation, in a fast food world. All plastic, all the time. Refrigerator breaks? Regret buying a side by side? Toss it. Buy a new one. Relationship hit a snag or bump in the road? Don't fix it for heaven sake, just get a divorce, break up, and head on to the next one. Grandma got Alzheimers and arthritis, send her away. Too bad we have no ice floes here.... Just pack her off to Jacaranda Manor and when they abuse and neglect her, when she has bed sores the size of dinner plates, call in Beltz and Ruth to sue for nursing home abuse to assuage your guilt because you haven't seen her for six months.
Now Boo - don't think I am unhappy after reading all of this... I just start thinking about stuff and what I will do when I am made empress. And when I am made empress, all of this will change. But the first royal edict will be: all men will wear kilts.
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| And The OTHER Thing - The Stove |
| 07.20.04 (6:25 pm) [edit] |
The dripping refrigerator has reminded me of a story: WHO KNEW!!!
I am very sensitive about rodentia. HATE them! This story goes way back to the time of Joseph and his dog Benny the Bull Terror (that is NOT a misspelling).
Benny was quite a ratter. That was about the only thing I loved about Benny. I got to show him, which was like having an 80 pound Tazmanian devil on a piece of dental floss in the show ring, but I digress.
Now, I suspected that some sort of dreadful creature of the family rodentia, species stinky disease spreading rat had set up housekeeping in my stove. Every time I lit it, I could smell rat pee. I am adept at distinguishing the scent of rat pee from say, Thierry Mugler's Angel.
Joseph thought I was on crack. I said no, really. He said, can't be. I said, oh yeah? Watch this.
Beside the stove is the garage door with a dog door. I pulled the stove out as far as it can go. I tell him to light the broiler as high as it can go. We are all in a kitchen the size of I don't know... a smallllll room. I get Benny and put him in a "sit stay" in front of the oven.
The oven is heating up. Joseph is saying "nothing is going to happen" I say "wait". The rat decides to make a dash for the dog door. The oven is just more than it can take. It did not make it. Benny broke his sit stay. GOOOD Benny! Goooood BOY!!!
We bought a new stove the following day.
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| These two things I have: a gun and a side by side. |
| 07.19.04 (6:20 pm) [edit] |
In the early days of the house of Pud, I had a reasonable refrigerator. A typical refrigerator in beige (boring, albeit matching) with the freezer on the top where it belonged and the refrigerated section wide and deep below.
One day dear husband noticed a problem with refrigerator. Next thing *I* knew, since MIL had a "side by side" I had a side by side with an ice maker and cold water dispenser. Along with a white stove to match. Who knew!!!
I despise that refrigerator like Hitler.
It has been nothing but problems since that fateful day it was delivered. The freezer is as narrow as Gwyneth Paltrow's hips. It holds NOTHING. The thing leaks like the CIA. It holds no value for me.
Once, a couple of years ago, I pulled it out to clean behind it. I pushed it back, the copper tubing popped a gasket. Water all over the place. Call the plumber. Pay the freight. Subsequently, the ice maker and water dispenser have gone to bed. Fast forward.... for some unknown reason, whatever ailed the water dispenser is still ailing, but the symptoms have changed. Now, water is dispensing -WHEN I DON'T WANT IT TO. I CANNOT MAKE IT STOP.
Now, we (isn't that delicious that I can say "we" as in a couple) are leaving this weekend for St. Augustine. "I" do not want to return to the River Kwai.
Have I mentioned that I abhor this fr*(!king refrigerator????
I also mentioned 'the gun'. Yes. I have one. It is a small revolver with pink handles fashioned from the substance used to create dentures. It is in a case, which is further encased in a plastic shoebox in a corner of a closet. It is an antique. In all likelihood, upon firing, it may send the bullet backwards into me, ending this blog, my life and all future references to that F@#*ing refrigerator. I am willing to take my chances. This particular gun has not been fired, to my knowledge in my lifetime. Today might just be it's lucky day.
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| Griffin and Sabine/Henry and Susan |
| 07.19.04 (5:52 pm) [edit] |
There are few things that I like better these days than hearing "you've got mail". It seems that each morning I am greeted with a song de jour. Recently the daily repaste has been "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" (both versions) and today, Unforgettable..... Romance, thy name is Heni.
When I go to sleep, he is the last thought on my mind. When, at 3:17 I awaken, the first thing I do is hit the pc to see if I have mail. Now you may remember, you may be hearing this for the first time.... I have been waking up on or about 3:17 for roughly four years now. Nightly. There is no significance to that time that I am able to match up. But it remains that I wake up. Used to be, I would wander the halls of the house of Pud and be morosely unhappy. For the past month or so... I have been wandering in to see what might be there to be seen.
When my eyes pop open, my first thoughts are of Heni. (And don't you know that I lurv knowing that he reads this here lil ole blog daily).... but I digress.....
And most of the time, there is some lovely card, a song, generally both waiting for me. Dear gentle reader, I do not go to the kitchen for coffee first. I don't even remove my very attractive and expensive night guard before I am diving into that chair to see ... and I open it up and there it is... Unforgettable.
Then, as the day goes by, and he goes to work... the emails begin. Some days he is busier than others. Our personal record is 18 emails in one day. with each of those emails I open them, and like it happens in the movies, I hear his voice - his gentle voice with its own syntax and rhythm, I hear him read them to me in my head. I save them, and I can go back in time to the beginning and still hear him just as surely as if he were reading them to me. ...
And then I hear my response, this time in my own voice - "My darling Boo! This is what I am thinking and this is what I am doing and this is what might happen next. "
While he is saving lives and filling prescriptions, I am plugging away at my commitment to four pages a day of a novel that may very well be the largest compilation of dreck ever written. But my darling Boo encourages me, and I write. And I write some more. To hear him say it, Tolstoy ain't got nothing on me. Poor pathetic Tolstoy.
Four pages a day of writing may seem easy. Try it a couple of days in a row. Send me your manuscript. I will be gentle.
I will see him tomorrow. Picture me, if you will, doing the Snoopy dance to Schroeder's piano concerto. Arms outstretched, muzzle pointed toward the sky. Can you almost hear the music?
I have said it before. I reiterate. I am much more polished when writing than speaking. I am ok on the talking part if it is short and sweet and to the point. I am also easily distracted and procrastinate like a professional.
So I revert to my Griffin and Sabine analogy, except that when Heni shows up, I am here. Griffin has a marked propensity for taking off just as Sabine arrives. They, unlike Heni and I, seem destined to longing for each other from a distance. While they are able to see into each other's hearts and minds, and speak of their love for each other, they are crippled with fear. The fear of rejection? The fear that they may dissappoint? I am not certain. Of this I am certain.... when I become fearful, feel that creeping shroud of self doubts, I remember Heni's words, be brave, be bold, be all that you say you are and more.
And with that, I charge forth into the uncharted waters before me.
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| Five Pages of Honey |
| 07.19.04 (5:18 pm) [edit] |
Dear gentle reader,
I wrote five pages today. Five pages of the story of my grandmother, whom I never met. The story goes that she gave birth to my father, and then shortly thereafter became pregnant again. She died when my father was just a baby from an illegal abortion. This part is true. I have pulled from oral history as much as can be gleaned. Most of my family is dead. The ones who are still living have given me all there is to give. Then I began the research to back it up.
The census sheets are a virtual wealth of information, if one can read between the lines. You, gentle readers, have plenty of experience with me regarding reading between the lines. So in viewing these census sheets I have unearthed a love story, a tragedy, if you will. And that is what I am writing about. The story of a woman with very few choices and a very short life. I have endeavored to be true to her memory, for I love her. Even though I never met her, she is part of me. She is part of the reason for me being who I am.
Her name is Honey. And this is her story.
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| My own personal Griffin and Sabine |
| 07.18.04 (6:28 pm) [edit] |
Dearest gentle reader,
I have shared with you some of the gentlest, most intimate moments of the romance that is most paramount in my life, along with some of the times that may have had you wondering if I might hang myself anytime soon. Many of you have reached out to me, shored me up with your encouragement. I am grateful.
And now, it seems that I have been very blessed to have good news to share with you as well. As my burgeoning relationship with my dearest boo has unfolded I have basked in the response from you.
You, who were there in my darkest hours. I have clung to life in that ravine and you tossed me a rope. I have tied that rope around me and you pulled me to safety.
I am truly enamoured of the Griffin and Sabine trilogy and indeed see a parallel in my life. The entire concept of two individuals nearly a world apart but connected at the heart.... well. Suffice it to say that many aspects of my flowering relationship with my darling Heni resemble strongly the Griffin and Sabine characters.
To be clear: one of the things that I found very attractive from the start was Heni's writing style. His writing is concise and sure. His choice of words and phrases is clear. His style is adept.
I am unable to connect to someone who is unable to use written language to communicate. It is just that simple. If you cannot write a paragraph, I may be able to like you as a friend... unless you are a person with Down's syndrome, in which case special exemptions apply.
The other things are that Henry reads my stuff. And he perceives it, and thinks about it, asks me about it.
Sometimes I am better in word than in person. Sometimes my talk is broken, stilted, lacks in flow. I do better in written word. I am compelled to write. When I write, be it here, e-mail, or my novel in progress, it is closer to my heart. My hands are incapable of reconfiguring the truth that my heart sends out.
But this I know - those of you who are cheering us on are simply the best. Simply the best. You have been there for me, in private emails, in comments, in spirit.
G-dspeed for the Henry and Susan project. But - even if it does not get off the ground, you people are all that. You mean a very big lot to me.
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| Hunger Strike and Hostage Day 1 |
| 07.18.04 (5:46 pm) [edit] |
My dear friend Carol and I have been friends for one quarter of a century. We have gone through trials and tribulations with our children, jobs, parents, men, and life in general.
While we were struggling, both single mothers, to provide for our children we both did the very best that we knew how. Jason got his Bar Mitzvah. I know, I was there. Jill went to proms, had braces, got dance lessons. My girl went to gymnastics and horse back riding camp in the summer. Carol and I did our level best. Carol had at least two occassions where she was seeing a man, in one case loved a man and stopped dating them because the "kids didn't like him".
Flash forward 20 some odd years. Her kids are grown, my kid is grown. They have both gone on with their lives. Now she is alone, in a condo and they use her for that wonderful service provided by bubbes everywhere... you got it. Weekends with the kids.
My situation is a bit different, but still not what I would have pictured. I get to see my grandchildren sporadically at best. When I might see them next is anybody's guess. Pretty much, I think that I am expected to sit and wait for that opportunity to present itself.
Carol's son is doing poorly. Over Hannukah, he was hospitalized for 6 days due to his brain swelling from alchohol overdose. I changed this little twits diapers. He is killing his mother along with himself.
Her daughter has two babies of her own. Carol gets them at Jill's convenience.
We spoke over dinner about what to do. I opined that we are being held hostage by our children. That where we value family and time, they are only interested in what new X game or movie we might provide. She asked what we might do.
I suggested a hunger strike. That we not be so available. That we pretend that we are leaving to go to our Alaska cruise in the morning. Oh DARN! If Only I had KNOWN!!!
Total shut down. Every time Carol asks me how my girl is doing, how my babies are, I find my innards freezing. I have placed that part of my heart inside a block of ice in the freezer. I have no say in any matter involving my babies. They are living with their father and their mother, my girl, is raising the children produced by other people.
There is a finite amount of resources available for each parent. The resources available for my babies is depleted. My heart breaks every time that I am forced to face the reality of this truth.
Carol's son Jason believes firmly that no matter how badly he behaves, she will be there to pick up the pieces. Her daughter thinks that she is available any weekend to care for the grandchildren.
My daughter thinks that I will be here anytime that she wants to come over and bring the children. It never occurs to any of them that either Carol or I might have plans. There is no phone call a few days in advance. Just franticness. In my case, my son in law will not come here. There is a massive chasm in my life and it is not my fault. My daughter has two lives. One she can share with me. One, not so much. I can never ever expect to go to her house. What is that? I am not welcome in the home of my daughter? I have not done anything wrong.
It is not like they want to just spend time with us. Indeed, as Carol and I talked, it became apparent that our children hardly know us at all. We are the providers of birthday gifts and parties and hannukah gifts.
They want us to be there for them. But they don't want to have any responsibility for us. In my case on birthdays and mothers days I have a reasonable expectation of being remembered.... and that is nice.
If only I could go to my daughter's home for dinner sometime. But it is simply not possible.
Carol spoke to her mother at least twice a week. I stopped by to see my mother every day for years. When she moved to Largo, I spoke with her several times a week. I saw her several times a month.
Now, she is gone two years. Carols mother is gone some 4. Someday I will be gone, and my child and my grandchildren will wonder what kind of person I was.
Until then, Carol and I have agreed that we are on a hunger strike. That we are being held hostage and the only way to gain their respect is by not caving to their demands. She is determined to not enable Jason by paying his car insurance or anything else. I am determined to not get sucked into the next "Mom, I have the kids and because my husband is such a gaping flaming, cheating, childish, passive aggressive arsewipe I can't have them here so can I bring them there", marathon.
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| Happy Birthday SULKY!! |
| 07.18.04 (11:50 am) [edit] |
One of my very favorite people is having a birthday today. So go check out much funny things and wish Sulky very happy returns of the day.
[url=]http://sulkbrarian.tblog.com/...[/url]
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| Brunch with de Boo! |
| 07.18.04 (9:26 am) [edit] |
In the beginning there were hours, which have become days, and weeks and now just about four of those weeks... or a month if you will, have now passed and I am blissfully, deliriously, and outrageously happy.
When we first started sending copious quantities of email volleys, I began referring to him as "my sweet Baboo" of Peanuts fame. That has become My darling Boo, or some variation on a theme. I am, to him, Sweetest Pie or SP or some variation on that theme. Subsequently, he has taken to signing emails with "H de Boo".
This morning I had brunch with my dearest Boo. He arrived, as usual, with an armful of stuff. His travel wok, filled with packets of roast duck, vegetables, and pasta.
But before he put on his Yan can cook hat, he installed Microsoft Office in my pc. The constant need for technical assistance has become a running joke in the house of Pud.
And then he cooked. And how Heni can cook. He took the skin and fat off the breast of the duck, sauteed it to flavor some diced onion and carrot and placed it , along with tender pieces of roasted duck all atop the cooked pasta. Then, he garnished (yes!) it with strips of red pepper. It is all in the presentation.
All the while telling me hysterically funny stories of car thefts and his days of being blissfully naive about cross dressing guys and gay bars.
I am so very much enjoying spending quality time with him..... he is the best snuggler ever...... I love to hear him laugh, watch him smile, the way he tilts his head when he asks me a question, the way he asks me if I want to do something on Tuesday, and about a million other things. He is so very special and wonderful and I feel so very grateful that he managed to find me.
So I have sent him off to work and I am very very happy for the hours that we spent together. We will be having lunch at the Don Cesar on Tuesday and we will be spending much quality time together on Thursday, his day off. Then on Saturday morning bright and early, we head to St. Augustine for the weekend. I am very much looking forward to that and more.
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| When I was a little girl.... |
| 07.17.04 (6:54 pm) [edit] |
My parents, G-d rest their souls - suffice it to say that they were young and birth control was at best, sporadic. Elsewise, we would not be having this chat.
My parents created three of us: Gary, Tracy, Susan.
Then, they went about their lives and left my brother and sister to take care of me. Gary changed schools seven times in third grade. He and my sister Tracy stole food for me when they were, what, maybe 8 and 6?
We were shifted around to whoever would take us for a long time while my mother "found herself". That took a couple of our formative years. Now, I have, as an adult determined that it is never too late to have a happy childhood. Enter Hobie Wan Kanobie, several show dogs, some quilts, some silly collections.... the list goes on and on and on.
One of my true happy childhood memories that I cherish is my sister rubbing my back. I don't understand the catalyst, and I cannot question the motivation. I am only responding to her recent comment about sleeping with her, which I do, every chance I get. Purely platonic, I assure you, gentle reader. She gets to sleep with some grouchy chick that has a device in her mouth the size of Atlanta. Lucky girl.
My point (I know, it is on top of my head and if I comb my hair very carefully, few notice) - is that my sister and my brother meant more to me than my parents ever did. And since I lost my brother, she is all that I have.
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| Thoughts and Updates and Such |
| 07.17.04 (7:58 am) [edit] |
To bring you up to speed, dear gentle reader, my air conditioner has taken a dive and I live in the tropics. So on this Saturday morning it is a balmy 90 degrees and raining. I am ever so grateful for the cooling rains and the breeze blowing through the open windows. The dogs are enjoying sitting on the front porch barking at anything that moves and some things that don't.
Henry has sent my my morning greeting, which was very sweet and tender. And while I was reading it, he called. So due to the weather, the flea market trip is postponed.
I went to have breakfast with Stephanie (one of the chefs) and catch up on what was new and exciting. They will be leaving for Canada soon and I will be in charge of mail and pond care.
And then Henry called again! We will be having breakfast tomorrow of roast duck from the Saigon market (which roasts duck only on the weekend, I have been told.) I am so grateful that this seems to be unfolding in just the manner that I had hoped for, that is, to have a companionship that allows me to miss him when we are apart and enjoy looking forward to the next time we are together.
And while the ceiling fans have been helping greatly to cool things off (that would be me, running my own personal premenopausal furnace) they have also dislodged many dust bunnies. Rather dust tumbleweeds.... so I am "blessing" my home in a very haphazard, scattered, and very unFlyLady like fashion. I have too many things going on. The oven is cooling after the cleaning heat cycle so I will have to remember to wash it out when it cools.
When I opened the windows I found much dirt and dusty curtains. The curtains are in the washer, and I am down another Mr. Clean sponge (I LOVE those things) The vacuum is in the front porch and I was in the middle of cleaning up out there when a profound thought struck me and I was compelled to put it to written word before I lost it.
Here it is: Since the day that I first met Henry, that very first day and each time that I have seen him since (which has been a goodly sum of days), he has never arrived empty handed. Each and every time I see him, he brings me some thoughtful gift. Some flowers for my candles, the candle itself, a bottle of wine, CD's that he burns for me that he thinks I will enjoy, software for my PC, speakers, receivers, dinners... Every single time.
Somehow, I have managed to find someone who is genuinely nice packaged with a bunch of other fine attributes, but just plain nice. Now at dinner last night he said that while he appreciates the lovely compliments that I pay him here in blogland, that *I* am to take some credit for the way that things are. So in order to make Heni happy, I hearby take the appropriate amount of credit for having contributed whatever it is that I have contributed to that which we have become.... whatever that is.
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| I hurt a Friend, and me, in the aftermath. |
| 07.16.04 (8:14 pm) [edit] |
If, at the end of one's life, one can count the number of friends on one hand, one may think themselves very fortunate indeed.
I am grateful that I have several very long term friends to my credit. These people have put up with my lack of thoughtfulness, my deplorable missteps, and my general assholeishness. ( I deem it a word, therefore it is one. So there).
I inadvertedly hurt my dear friend Leslie. We go back a thousand years. We were friends, and roommates and helped each other through a million bad times and gloomy times and she did my hair.
And she was there for me a billion or so times. OK, so I was there for her a couple of times.
In the not so distant past, many other people have hurt her. Some long term friends, some employees. My gaffe? On the weekend of my sister's birthday, I made appointments for us to experience side by side pedicures... Leslie owns a salon...
POOP.
And then, to rub salt into wound, she sends me some goofy email. I get all giddy, talking about my sweet Heni.... and mention new pedis...
Oops.
She, of course caught it. She of course called me on it. Not that I don't have the right to have my feet, my nails, my hair - done anywhere I choose to. But that when I was desperately down and out, and she did my hair so that I could appear in court - and she never charges me... and I so hurt her, by implying that I was not happy with the way she did my hair. Which is so not true because she always made me look so very beautiful. To be sure, the photograph that I found in the attic, that one that I had to have done for Mike Peters of Grimmy fame... Leslie did my hair. I showed that photograph to my Henry last night. He said I was beautiful.
I was so sorry to hurt my dear friend. I told her so. She said she was grateful for my apology. That her friends had been "dropping like flies". I don't want to be counted among those gladflies. I love Leslie. I care for her, want her to be happy.
I want to be the kind of person, that if I misstep, if I hurt feelings, if I drop the ball, that I can say "I am sorry."
I think I am that kind of person.
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| Friday Night Date Night |
| 07.16.04 (6:23 pm) [edit] |
Henry called to ask about dinner. We decided to go to one of my favorite restaurants. Henry and I went to dinner at #9 Bangkok tonight. It was lovely. We shared two dishes, Panang curry with chicken and Pad Thai with chicken. The plates were garnished with fresh orchids. The ambiance was lovely.
After dinner, we walked downtown and wandered in some of the shops at Baywalk. Heady stuff... some of it I enjoy looking at, but I sure could not imagine it in the house of Pud.
And - my air conditioner froze up this afternoon. Now I have no air conditioning and it is approaching 90 degrees Fahrenheit. So much too warm for any necking, snuggling, or physical closeness. Furthermore, we are both tired.
So we will go to the flea market, maybe tomorrow. I intend to call to see if I can get someone to fix this huge problem. What is it with air conditioners all of a sudden.... first sister's a/c takes a dive, now this!
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| The Census Taker |
| 07.16.04 (8:36 am) [edit] |
Carrie looked out the parlor window to the street. A black automobile was parked just down Oakhurst Street a block or so. There was a man in suit and hat , carrying a briefcase going from door to door. Carrie wondered what he wanted. The sight of him reminded her of Bernard. Bernard had gone door to door with satchel in hand too. Bernard the Fuller Brush salesman who had sold her any number of brushes. If she had known what else he was peddling in her house she would have done something about it. Bernard, the source of all of this trouble that this family had seen in the past 2 years. The very reason that Honey was dead. He was just as responsible for her death as if he had put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger.
March had come in like a lion and gone out like a lamb. This April was warm and sunny. Patches of snow still clung in the gutters, but spring was demonstrating its presence in the songs of the birds in the maple trees. Soon she would see the sunny yellow heads of the daffodils that were planted just last week. The last threat of frost was past now. Honey had loved the daffodils and had helped her in the garden. This year she had planted them alone, for Honey was dead now over a month.
How dare the sun shine so bright. How dare the birds sing and the flowers bloom. How could this spring look like every other spring when everything else was so wrong. She started to cry, tears of loss and anger at the futility of it. The shame of it. Just twenty two years old. Her baby girl, dead at twenty two. She sat down on the horsehair sofa and cried. Her head in her arms, her shoulders wracked with sobs. There was no one to hear her, no one to chastise her, for once. Harry was off to work at the tap and die factory and would not return until after 5 o’clock. If Harry were to see her crying again, he would remind her that it was Honey’s own fault. That she was a fallen woman. That she was having an immoral and illicit affair with a married man. He would point out that they had forgiven her one mistake, but she seemed powerless to stop carrying on with Bernard. That second mistake had cost her dearly.
Honey’s second pregnancy had ended on a kitchen table in Michigan. Soon after, the infection had raged through her body. She died within a week of sepsis. She left behind a beautiful baby boy of just 7 months. Bobby would grow up never knowing his mother, and denied by his father.
That Honey had been a bad girl did not stop her mother from grieving her death. Harry seemed to be better equipped to deal with the death of his youngest daughter. If he had cried, he had been alone when it happened. If he missed her, he did not say. He pretended that she never existed. Perhaps that made it easier to live with the guilt of suspecting that she was being taken advantage of and doing nothing to stop it.
But Carrie found it difficult if not impossible to keep up appearances and to do her work to keep her home running. She did not want to explain to the neighbors why Bernice was not there. She did not want to see them whispering to each other when she went to shop at the market. All she really wanted to do was turn back time to the point where she had let Honey down, the point where she had failed her so miserably. If she could go back to the time when she was a good mother, she could have seen that Honey was headed for trouble.
She was experiencing terrible difficulty keeping up with the three grandchildren, Betty, John Paul and Bobby. Three children to raise and here she was, in her fifties. The economy was bleak and money was in short supply in the household. Now three little babies that need shoes and clothes and food. Harry and she had already raised one family, now it seemed that they would have to do it all over again. Their three daughters had each contributed to the current population by producing an illegitimate child apiece. Carrie knew that the neighbors called them bastards and hated it. But it was true. Her daughters each one, fallen immoral women. She cried at the indignity of it all, for the loss of her daughter, for herself. She cried and cried until there were no tears left. Her lined face was swollen and red. She blew her nose in her handkerchief edged with lace she had tatted years ago and went to the kitchen. She splashed cold water on her face at the sink, thinking that it was nearly time for the babies to awaken from their naps. Pushing strands of graying hair back into her loose chignon, she smoothed her apron down and collected herself.
Bobby began to cry in his crib upstairs. Carrie went to the nursery and picked him up. She changed his diapers and soothed him to quiet. John Paul stood in his crib crying and shifting from one little foot to the other. Betty came into the room rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She held her rag doll by one arm. Her plaits were all messy and her little dress was wrinkled. Still, she was a beautiful little girl with her big brown eyes and upturned little nose. Her arms were dimpled and soft.
She put Bobby back in his crib and picked up little John Paul., tussling his blond curls. His little ears stuck straight out. Carrie changed his diaper.
“It’s high time that you were potty trained, young man”.
He watched her intently as she pinned his diaper.
“You are over two years old. You should use the potty like a big boy.”
John Paul placed his thumb in his mouth and began sucking his thumb. All finished, she picked him up and stood him beside her. Then she picked Bobby up and headed back down the stairs, holding John Paul’s tiny hand in hers.
There was a knock at the door. Carrie opened the door with Bobby in her arms, the other two at her feet. There stood the man in the suit with his briefcase.
“Census taker, ma’am” may I come in?” He asked while tipping his hat.
“Why, what is this about? What is it?”
“Well ma’am, every ten years the government orders a census of the population. They hire men like me to go door to door and collect information about how many people are in each house and things like that”.
“I don’t know. My husband isn’t home. He would be the best to answer your questions. Can you come back after supper?”
“No ma’am. But I am sure you would be able to tell me all that I need to know. Just your names and when you were born and whether you can read or write is all.”
“Then I suppose it would be alright. Come in.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Can I get you some coffee?”
“Thanks but no ma’am. But if we could sit in the kitchen, it would make it easier to fill out the form. Would that be alright?”
Carrie was glad that she had forced herself to do her kitchen chores early in the day. The stove was freshly blackened and the curtains at the window were freshly washed and ironed.
“Yes, that is fine. Come this way then” she said leading the way into the kitchen. “Betty, play with John Paul please and keep him quiet”.
“Yes, mommy.”
She sat at the smooth wooden table with the baby cradled in her arms. The census taker, a small man with a birdlike nose, sat opposite her. He opened his briefcase and took out pen and ink. He observed Carrie with interest. She was a rather handsome woman, buxom and tall. His weeks of census taking had honed to a fine art his ability to guess women’s ages. It was a sort of game that he played with himself. Guess the age of the woman, and then when he asked, he could secretly congratulate himself on getting it right. He guessed her age at 55, based on the wrinkles and the graying hair. But how could that be? He wondered. Here she holds an infant and there in the corner playing is yet another. His brow furrowed, perplexed.
“Alright, we begin with the names of everyone who lives here, including boarders if any.”
The census taker filled in the street number in the form, 32 Oakhurst Street.
Carrie did not want to think about boarders anymore. That Mr. Shaw who boarded with him might very well be Betty’s father.
“My husband, Harry, myself and the children.”
“Harry is the head of household then?”
“Yes”, she answered.
“What is Harry’s full name?”
“Harry W. Cooper.”
“Harry W. Cooper”, he repeated as he wrote it down.
“Harrison W. Cooper”, she corrected herself, but it was too late. The ink was already beginning to dry.
“That’s alright, now, how old is Harry?”
“Fifty three.”
“Where was he born?”
“Maine.”
“How old was he when you married?”
“Eighteen, we were both eighteen. We got married in Cooper’s Mill, Maine on June 18, 1896. We have been married now nearly 35 years.”
“That’s wonderful. My wife and I have been married only 12, but we were a bit older than you were when you married. Now, back to this. Where were Harry‘s parents born?”
“His parents were both from Maine, is all I know.”
“Alright, fine then. Can Harry read and write?”
“Of course”, she answered, thinking it a ridiculous question.
“No offense, ma’am but you would be very surprised at how many men and women can’t write much more than their names and can’t read to save their mortal souls.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, it is. Now, what does Harry do for a trade?”
“He’s a machinist at the tap and die factory.”
“Tap and die factory” he repeated as he wrote down the information.
“Now, what is your name?” he asked, looking into her hazel eyes.
“Carrie”, she responded.
“Carrie” he repeated. “C -A-R-R-I-E?”
“Yes”, no wait!”, but again it was too late for the correction. “It’s Caroline.”
“No bother”, he said while inwardly wondering what was so distracting to her that she couldn’t be held accountable to report her own name properly.
“Age?”
“Fifty -three”.
He had been off by two years.
Bobby began to fuss and cry in her arms.
“I need to give him a bottle”, she said to the census taker as she went to the ice box to retrieve a bottle. With one hand, she pumped water into the pan placed in the kitchen sink. Then she lit the stove with a wooden match, and slid the pan onto the burner. She placed the glass bottle into the pan and stood rocking the baby as she waited for the water to heat the milk.
“Where were you born?” he asked.
“Nova Scotia.”
“When did you come to the United States?”
“When I was fourteen”
“And your parents, where were they born?”
“My father was born in France, my mother in England”
Bubbles were forming in the bottom of the pan. From time to time she lifted the bottle out and pushed on the nipple to feel the temperature. Still too chilled, she put it back into the pan.
“Can you read and write?”
“Yes.”
“What are the names and ages of the children?”
“Betty, that is short for Elizabeth J., is six. John Paul is two and a half and Bobby is eight months.”
“So let me see, Elizabeth J. Cooper, six years old. And she is your?”
“She is my daughter”.
Again she tested the milk. It was ready. She turned off the stove and returned to the table. She sat down and placed the bottle to Bobby’s lips. He began sucking noisily.
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| My Morning Message |
| 07.16.04 (3:45 am) [edit] |
Each day for the past month I have looked forward to email from a particular person who goes to a great deal of trouble to find the perfect thing to say, the song that fits the occassion, the sentiment that encapsulates our most recent time together....
This morning's mail:
"Beautiful In My Eyes"
You're my peace of mind in this crazy world.
You're everything I've tried to find, your love is a pearl.
You're my Mona Lisa,
You're my rainbow skies,
And my only prayer is that you realize,
You'll always be beautiful in my eyes.
The world will turn and the seasons will change,
And all the leassons we will learn.
Will be beautiful and strange.
We'll have our fill of tears, our share of sighs.
My only prayer is that you realize,
You'll always be beautiful in my eyes.
You will always be,
Beautiful in my eyes.
And the passing years will show,
That you will always grow more beautiful in my eyes.
When there are lines upon my face, from a lifetime of smiles.
When the time comes to embrace, for one long last while.
We can laugh about how time really flies.
We won't say goodbye 'cause true love never dies.
You'll always be beautiful in my eyes.
You will always be,
(You will always be)
Beautiful in my eyes.
(Beautiful in my eyes)
And the passing years will show,
That you will always grow ever more beautiful in my eyes.
The passing years will show, that you will always grow,
Ever more beautiful in my eyes.
Joshua Kadison
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| My Ain True Love |
| 07.15.04 (7:18 pm) [edit] |
Could someone explain to me why I find this song so very haunting, so compelling, so captivating?
You'll walk unscathed through musket fire,
No ploughman's blade will cut thee down,
No cutler's horn will mark thy face
And you will be my ain true love,
And you will be my ain true love
And as you walk through death's dark veil,
The cannon's thunder can't prevail,
And those who hunt thee down will fail,
And you will be my ain true love,
And you will be my ain true love.
Asleep inside the cannon's mouth,
The captain cries, "Here comes the rout,"
They'll seek to find me north and south,
I've gone to find my ain true love.
The field is cut and bleeds to red.
The cannon balls fly round my head,
The infirmary man may count me dead,
When I've gone to find my ain true love,
I've gone to find my ain true love.
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| A Most Wonderful Afternoon Becomes a Magical Night |
| 07.15.04 (5:59 pm) [edit] |
My sweet Boo arrived about 3pm for dinner. His intent was to replace my receiver for my stereo with his. I noticed a few days ago that my receiver was not working. I was cleaning and needed to hear Aretha belt out Respect. There was no belting to be had. Indeed, no sound at all. First I thought it was the speakers, then the receiver.
Fortunately today, I figured out what the problem was. Another piece of equipment that requires power - who knew? Therefore, he did not have to spend all afternoon putzing around with that and I could have his undivided attention..... Which I did. Some of you, gentle astute readers, are quite capable of reading between the lines.... which you should.
But, before I leave out some important details (the residence of the devil), let me backtrack. Have I mentioned how thoughtful my Heni is? Por exemplo, gentle readers, if you will recall the first time that he made dinner for me there was that candle in the midst of flowers floating in a glass bowl. That said bowl managed to find its way to my house soon thereafter. That I had mentioned a lack of flowers in my yard to replace them when they went south? Do you remember? Well, he arrives, kisses me soundly, puts his things down and says "oh, I will be right back." Out he goes. I am of course, dying of curiousity. He comes back in and sits at the dining room table with a bowl full of fresh flowers. He takes out the old, and arranges the new. Did I dream him up or what?
While I am getting started on dinner, he is hooking up the speakers that he thought I would prefer over my pathetic speaker (yes, ONE). The concept of stereo has been returned to the house of Pudlin. Of course, he carefully considered that I might want to move the speakers so he brought extra long speaker wires, just in case. I tell you, the man is amazingly detail oriented. He doesn't miss anything. Ever. I swear.
Now, since I want to not be consumed with measuring, chopping, slicing, dicing and generally all the distractions of cooking - I do the prep work before hand. All of the ingredients for each dish are measured out and placed on a plate in the refrigerator. Then, I merely have to toss and stir and bat my eyelashes at this amazing man who has chosen to heap his attentions on me. Mise en place, it makes cooking a no brainer. Good thing, because when he is talking to me and looking at me and kissing me... honey, *I* can barely be held accountable to remember my name. And when he touches me.... well, suffice it to say that I believe I have confessed to a couple of murders that took place before I was born. Which I did not do.
I made: Egg Noodle and Vegetable Stir-Fry
Shrimp with Leeks in Fish Sauce,
Baked cod
Haricort vert
cheesecakes for dessert.
Yes, Loops, I garnished - tiny stars cut from red and yellow peppers and chives on the shrimp dish. The lady at the fish store was rather perturbed that I wanted three shrimp only. It was just for Heni. I don't eat shellfish. But I certainly enjoyed watching him eat shellfish and the rest of it too. He was, of course, very complimentary of my cooking techniques and presentation.
I have not been a big fan of fish ever. But, I am thinking that fish is a better idea than red meat and I have been thinking about getting back to my fighting weight and getting my health house in order. So recently I bought some cod. To be sure, I liked it. Dinner was simple, fresh, and tastefully elegant.
I am leaving out about 6 hours of treasured conversation that was so intimate, so special that to share it here would be to reduce it. I choose to save reduction to sauces, if you please. That said, I will give you this tiny nugget:
"Where were you all those cold months of winter?"
I cleaned up after. We retired to the salon now equipped with two speakers! We popped All That Jazz into the vcr and snuggled on the couch. And snuggled, and snuggled..... Have I reported that my Henri is the best snuggler EVER. That we have a major snuggle fest going on and that my snuggle ticket has been punched so often that it is now merely confetti? Seriously, if snuggling were an Olympic sport, my Heni gets the gold. If snuggling was an illegal drug, I would be an addict. If snuggling cost a dollar a snuggle, I would be blissfully poor. When Henry snuggles, all is right with the world. Regardless of the hour of the day, the birds begin singing in the trees. A rainbow forms and flowers bloom. Dolphins jump from the sea in a synchronized dance. Whales sing to each other. Violins play in the background and all of my past, present and future meld into nothing but goodness.
I feel a sense of peace. Harmonic convergence. All with the feeling that my beloved along with my mother and all that have gone before me are watching down on me saying - finally! Hallelujah! What the hell took him so long?
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| Guess Who is Coming to Dinner |
| 07.15.04 (5:05 am) [edit] |
My Sweet Boo! That's who!
I am having such a wonderful time with this....
I wake up and the first thought is that I can be reasonably certain that there will be some email with a special song or a card attached.
Then there are the telephone calls. But by far, the best is the time that we spend together. So today's plan is that he will attempt to replace my receiver so that I can have music back in the living room and possibly catch a movie and snuggle on the couch.
I am making dinner. I am leaning toward cod with some veggies and some kind of asian noodle and I think I may whip up an appetizer for him as a special treat just because I can. For dessert, individual bite sized cheesecakes in New York, raspberry, and turtle flavors.
Sound good so far?
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| There is a person - who knew my Joseph |
| 07.14.04 (5:10 pm) [edit] |
Dear gentle readers,
Many of you have been there, supportive and understanding through the trials and tribulations of the past four years. But, that said, I have only been blogging for the past two, max.
I have used this venue to whinge and rant and rave at the unfairness of losing my beloved, among other things. You have all come to know him, albeit, after the fact - in a sense. You have known him through me, my feelings, and what I have shared with you here.
There are some who have had the pleasure to know him when he was here with me. They participated in newsgroups with him and watched him set up strawmen to be knocked down for the sheer enjoyment that he received from being able to do it.
If ever there were a man who could act as a catalyst to get people thinking and slinging mud hither and yon, it was my darling Joseph. He created threads that would take up a life of their own. His "Fear and Loathing During the Nixon Administration" probably threatened more than one server with being overwhelmed by volume if not content.
There are a number of individuals who have touched base from time to time, to see if I am ok. To see if I am. To see if I am still existing.
There is one... who is so very special to me. I do not know his name to date. He and Joseph wrote in such a similar fashion that detractors claimed that they were one in the same.
Until that fateful day when that horrible erroneous decision to delay emergency surgery was made.
And in the aftermath, HR has kept me in his sights. Has kept me for four long lonely years in his heart and mind. Has been there in the long and lonely hours when I would just as soon cease to exist. He has consistently been there with a "chin up girl! He loved you and he loved you well. Now do what you need to. He is there, I am here, you must do what need be done!"
He has never asked for anything in return. His situation is probably typical. His mother is ill, his sister is ill, he needs to make repairs on his home. He doesn't complain about these things. In fact, he is the much bigger person than me. In four years, in four years - he has yet to complain about any of it.
The bottom line is that I will probably never meet HR nor know his name. There was a time when he tried to put it in an email and it dissappeared into the bit bucket in the universe.
He has dropped in to see how and where I am. He sent me a very touching email, congratulating me on the situation with Heni, and letting me know that my writing -prior to, was getting even better.
He loved my husband and I love him. He was and is the best friend my husband could ever hope to have. Who else would look after your wife after you died without expecting something in return? He gets nothing from me except my unending respect and devotion. I don't know who he is. I have asked, and gratefully, he has refrained from sharing any information.
He is - I hope, someone upon whom I can count on forever to cheer me on. I don't deserve him, but I am grateful as all get out that I have him. And I have him because I had Joseph. And I had Joseph because, while he was really cool and all that, so was and am I.
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| Upping the Ante' |
| 07.14.04 (6:21 am) [edit] |
Gentle readers:
Two pages a day is not going to cut it. I don't want this book to be a pregnancy. I want to birth this baby now. Premature even, but surely in less than a year.
Heni has suggested that if I wrote simply one page a day that at the end of a year I would have roughly 365 pages, the length of your average novel. Well, at the rate this thing is going, it will be more akin to Tolstoy's in length (I am not comparing my writing to Tolstoy by any stretch of the imagination) before I am done.
So, I thought, ok 2 pages a day. That was fine for a couple of days. Then I became blissfully unemployed. I ask you, what better time in my life than now to use this opportunity afforded me to actually commit to writing a book????
New goal - short term - roughly 6 months. Finish this novel... for which I lack even the most rudimentary working title, by the way...
If anyone has any suggestions, I am all ears. In the meantime, I have promised a certain special person four pages today and I wish to fulfill that promise.
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| A Simply Wonderful Day of Simple Pleasures |
| 07.13.04 (6:04 pm) [edit] |
Many of you thought I would cave to Mr. Pants. Hah! Guess again!
My first day of being gainfully unemployed was filled to brimming with delight(s).
1. My darling Boo called early early early and suggested that we have a bowl of Pho' at my fav Vietnamese restaurant. We had a wonderful time, and then snuggled for a bit before he had to go to work.
He is just so wonderful.... he installed a special screen saver on my PC. He is good to my dogs. He is kind, and goodness and so sweet that it makes me smile so hard my face hurts at the end of the day.
2. My pal Carol brought back Chicago and we went shopping and grabbed dinner at Macaroni Grill. As we were leaving, we saw a couple of young girls with tatoos of Chinese characters on the small of their backs. I said " can you imagine, you are looking through the sample book, you choose the character for Happiness, you think - except the joke is on you, what is REALLY tatooed on your back forever is Noodle Soup! To which she responded in a classic Carol - yeah but what if they forget the Hap.
What?
Yeah, without the hap, all you get is penis.
You say that like it is a bad thing.
3. Tonight was Colin's night in school. I was reminded of just how very cool it is to communicate with a creature that does not speak the same language, nor learn the same way. We connect, I try -feebly and poorly at times, and I manage to express what I want in terms that he can get. He has his strong suits, and it is pure pleasure to see him when he hits his stride and is enjoying himself. Each time, I am reminded that each dog is as individual as each person and that they need to have those differences respected and revered.
Lacy, as you may recall, would try her entire repetoire of tricks to find what pleased me. Colin worries endlessly, loses his self esteem easily, lacks confidence if corrected. I have to be very careful to keep him up. He is easily distracted (he is an intact male- all other males are a threat, all females a challenge). He is the first intact male that I have worked with in this challenge. Whole new ball game. No pun intended.
But all in all, I am up for the challenge.
It was a very good day.
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| My Darling Henry |
| 07.12.04 (7:04 pm) [edit] |
[image]SusanofPudlin_1207 264915.jpg[/image]
I have asked for, and received permission to share with you the image of my sweet Heni. Here he is.
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| M R ducks |
| 07.12.04 (5:57 pm) [edit] |
M R Ducks
Oh yes M R!
Sometimes one cannot see the forest for the trees.
I do so love my friends in blog land who are outside my forest.
I do love Mr. Pants.
He will, given the opportunity, keep me as an indentured servant forever if I let him.
Tomorrow is my last day. That is all. Tomorrow. If'n he wants me to return under a "consulting" position, the rate is $65.00 per hour. AND I work at home if possible.
Nuff said.
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| Honey the Hussy - Bernard the Fuller Brush Man |
| 07.12.04 (5:48 pm) [edit] |
The cellar was bitterly cold and Bernard wondered if she were in her right mind choosing this as a meeting place. He also briefly considered his wife in the nearby town of Foxboro. His wife, Doris, who had borne him 2 daughters. Not a son in the lot. His wife, who was anything but a stupid woman. She had called him on the carpet any number of times before for some other woman’s scent on his clothes, lipstick on his shirt.
His thoughts regarding his wife faded quickly as Honey approached him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and placed her open mouth upon his. He kissed back, pressing her against the square support beam that ran from the dirt floor to the ceiling above them. His hands wandered over her shoulders, down her back and found their home on her ample buttocks. He squeezed.
Bernard was smart, but not what one would call brilliant. He sold brushes for the Fuller Brush Company door to door. Cold calling, week after week, day after day had made Bernard impervious to rejection. He took the company’s founder’s words, one Alfred C. Fuller, to heart.
“Every no brings you one step closer to a yes”.
In these days of recession, with everyone fighting for every dime and jobs so very scarce, Bernard was happy to have a job and Fuller Brush Company was happy to have Bernard. He carried his case of brushes over 3 counties, knocking on doors. A hairbrush here, a broom there. Make it work. Make it last. Guarantee it no matter what. Bernard sold Bernard and on the way, sold a few brushes. Enough brushes at a dime or quarter each to support his young family. Not in a fancy way, but to pay the rent and keep the babies in shoes.
Yet once again he found himself in a position that would afford him the view of a woman that was not his wife. He was not all that concerned with sinning, nor was he concerned about Honey’s feelings, or that she might run into Doris. That scenario would never in a million years occur. Neither of the women were in the same county, Bristol, and neither of them was afforded the luxury of transportation of any range beyond walking distance.
Honey was keenly aware that her options in this town were limited. The prospects for marriage were few. The available man supply was scant in this small town. Who might she meet? Who might want to marry her? She was neither the daughter of wealthy parents, she had little formal education, she was not some willowy beauty. She was just a young woman, curvy, average intelligence, few resources. A girl with a mother who obsessed over everyone’s drinking. A father who merely wanted to keep her mother from harping on him about every perceived sin committed by every townsperson. A girl with two elder sisters, one of whom had already borne a child out of wedlock. The other, prettier, more charming, much more likely to end up married.
What were the options available to Honey? To be a spinster or to marry. How to marry, when one is not gifted with lithe limbs, pale skin, charm, composure and the pretty wardrobe that others have? A girl has to do what a girl has to do.
Honey kissed him again. She arched her back and pushed her pelvis into his, feeling with a tremendous sense of accomplishment, his burgeoning manhood under his pinstripe trousers. She rubbed her breasts against him wantonly. She traced his silhouette with her ample arm and dimpled hand and then planted those dimples firmly in his crotch.
He was startled and excited with her wild abandon, her unusual behavior struck a chord in him. He was thoroughly enjoying her forays. They surprised him. He had never been around such a forward woman as Honey. But he felt the blood rushing and the sense of arousal that was not to be denied.
“Your so hard that a cat couldn’t scratch it”, she purred in his ear. The whole time she was rubbing him through his clothes.
“You want me, Bernard, I can tell”
He agreed, kissing her soft mouth again. Her breasts were heavy, pendulous, and scintillating. They were warm, inviting, and moved in unison as she undulated against him. His erection, pressed against the fabric of his garments.
“I want you too, Bernard, I want you bad. I want you to love me up.” she whispered.
Bernard pondered for a moment the possibility of being caught.
“Don’t worry, my mama is doing some sewing and Papa is listening to Amos and Andy” , she said, as if she had read his very thought like it was a cartoon balloon hanging above his head.
She continued rubbing his hardness, while pulling her dress up around her hips. At that second, that very moment, Bernard’s options were reduced to none. He pulled her drawers down to around her ankles. She stepped out of them. With the other hand, he reached for his belt and zipper. Once that feat was completed, he pulled her knee up over his hip and guiding himself with his other hand, entered her. He pulled her to him.
It hurt, but only briefly. She felt him and then it was done. Within seconds, he was thrusting like a rabbit. She had watched the rabbits in the yard, amazed. The male rabbit would mount the doe, thrust like crazy for a few seconds, and then fall over in exhaustion. This was not all that different. Bernard was thrusting in her like a buck rabbit. And it was over almost before it started. She wondered what all the fuss was about.
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| please release me, let me go!!!!! |
| 07.12.04 (12:03 pm) [edit] |
Earlier today, there was discussion of this being my real last day. Then boss' wife came in after attending a seminar with boatloads of notes.
New gameplan - after I put together her notes, she liked what I did so much that they want me to come back tomorrow and finish them up.
OK I will. BUT - I am going to be off Thursday and Friday - and that is final.
Coincidentally, Henry is off Thursday..... I see lots of Heni kissing in the not too distant future and I don't even have my tarot cards with me.
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| The Active Ingredients of Viagra |
| 07.11.04 (6:38 pm) [edit] |
HA,HA,
This just in! One of my very learned colleagues (is that right? provided me with the inside scoop)
I knew it, I just knew it They finally released the ingredients in
Viagra:
3% Vitamin E
2% Aspirin
2% Ibuprofen
1% Vitamin C
5% Spray Starch
87% Fix-A-Flat
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| A Whole Day of Heni |
| 07.11.04 (6:01 pm) [edit] |
Gentle readers, tis nearly bedtime and Henry was concerned that you would think that he had kidnapped me and was holding me for ransom - tbucks (?)
Truth is, he has been holding me..... and if any of you show up to pay the ransom, I will personally throttle you.
His return trip from the other side of the state was rife with dissappointing delays. What he thought would be an ETA of midnight was more accurately 3am. So, he didn't call until this morning.
I have, once again, technical difficulties with the speakers. This time in the living room and this time legitimate. If you recall, I have long ago exhausted the ruse of unplugging power supplies to speakers to engineer "service calls". I suggested that we make a trip to Best Buy to replace my speakers. But nooooo, he happens to have an extra set that might do the trick. He arrived near 11 with the speakers. We tried to replace my speakers, to no avail. Seems it is something else in the receiver. Which, coincidently, he has one that he is not using.
By this time, we are hungry. He is more than willing to try one of my favorite Vietnamese restaraunts. We each have a bowl of Pho'. Seems that the restaurant is having a celebration for the anniversary and from now through August all noodle soups 50% off. He had never had Pho' and was pleased. As was I. Pho' and tea. Doesn't get much better than that.
We returned home and watched the rest of Chicago that we had put on hold Tuesday. I was so enamored of it that I decided I wanted a copy of it for my "research" for the book.
Then we did our best to conserve body heat in this cold and frigid July in Florida. We were both very tired and decided to take a cat nap. I cannot tell you how wonderful it feels to be encased in his arms. To be aware that he finds me desirable. To feel skin on skin. His skin on my skin in particular. I had forgotten what it felt like, nearly, to be touched. It was as if I was in a walking coma. I was moving through life, but life was not moving through me. I was present, but not there.
Perhaps the best part is the level and degree of comfort that I find in him. The soft cadence of his voice and his eyes with always a hint of humor. The little things he says that reiterate that he is always listening, always paying attention. His concern for my health and happiness is always very clear. He wants to be sure that I do not have other plans, that he is not in the way, that I am feeling good and that I have all that I need, including space.
Even sitting watching a movie, his gentle touch on my hands, rubbing my shoulders, running his fingers through my hair - non of it insistant and pressuring, more like petting. Just constant gentle caring caresses. It is dreamlike, I tell you. Dreamlike.
It has been on my mind that I would like a small cd player that was portable for my bedroom. Now that I am having problems with the one in the living room (I was cleaning and blasted Aretha doing Respect with my feather duster in hand....), I thought again about a portable. So we did go to Best Buy, and I did get a small one. We then went to his house to pick up that receiver and then stopped to pick up Chinese take out for dinner.
Beef broccoli and lo mein. Fortune cookies. All so much better shared.
So I am pleased to say that we spent nearly the entire day together and there was nothing else that I would rather have been doing than that. I got it bad, and that's good.
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| And I miss Him |
| 07.10.04 (6:40 pm) [edit] |
Henry went on a road trip today and I miss him.
It is not like I want him to change his life to exclusively be all about me. Actually, I am glad that he has friends, activities, things to do that do not involve me.
Today, Heni went to spend time on the other coast with his friends.
It strikes a note in me that I miss him.
He has been a part of my life for a very short period of time. But I miss him.
I think it is healthy. I think that it is an indicator that I have moved on with my life in an attempt to connect with someone in a romantic fashion and I miss him.
I hope that from time to time he continues to go to do things for a day or a weekend or a week with other people and that I continue to miss him.
Or maybe I will go to visit my sister or to a dog show in Miami or for the week of the national poodle specialty in Maryland, or Westminster for that week in February. I would hope that I miss him, and that he would miss me.
But for now - I miss him. I look forward to seeing him (tomorrow). I hope that it does not cease to be a matter of looking forward to the next time that I see him. I hope that he feels the same way.
I told him in an email, and I meant it. I miss him.
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| Sail on, Sail on, Sailor |
| 07.10.04 (5:24 pm) [edit] |
Today was the day. I packed up Hobie Wan Kanobi on the roof of my car, loaded equipment and the sail. I launched from the beach at Isla Del Sol. Note: my sailing experience was some years ago as first mate on our 17" sailboat. Joseph was captain. All I had to do was follow directions.
Flash forward some 10 or so years. I am now the captain of my own ship (albeit a kayak 13 foot long and 2.5 feet wide) and the charter of my own course.
I put in at low tide, unsure of any wind at all. Underfoot were sea grasses and muck. I of course wore Tevas. Pushing HWK out to water deep enough for the pedals, I set them in place and locked them. I climbed aboard, dropped the rudder. The pedals act as a daggerboard under sail, you understand.
For a number of minutes, I floundered. Above me flapped the sail, ineffective and unguided. I gathered up the rope and swung her about. The wind filled the sail, and with a flap, she began to move over the water,
I don't know what I am doing, but I am testing the waters. I am feeling the point where she begins to keel, where the balance point is struck. I move my weight to the opposite side, face the sail, pull tighter on the rope, pick up speed. Now I am bracing with both feet. The wind has the sail and I have melded with the boat and the water and the sea and the wind. The water below me and the sky above me have ceased to have beginning and end. They are one and the same as we move through them, my little boat and me. I find myself whooping and hollering and doing a sad imitation of the scene in Titanic with Leonardo crying out that he is King of the World! I am empowered with this amazing freedom. This freedom to fly over waves, those black birds with the crooked wings circling overhead.
I am skimming along like a skipped rock on a calm lake. I am unaware of time. There is no time. I am, for the moment, in the moment. I have accomplished, for that time, the balance of work and play. My work has afforded me this opportunity to play.
I sailed today. It was magnificent.
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| Wild About Henry |
| 07.09.04 (3:36 pm) [edit] |
I'm just wild about Henry
And Henry's wild about me
The heavenly caresses of his kisses
Fills me with ecstasy
He's as sweet as chocolate candy
And just like honey from a bee
Oh I'm just wild about Henry
And he's just wild about
Cannot do without
He is from the south
Can't you hear me shout
Talking with my mouth
Could you ever doubt
He's just wild about me
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| Honey the Hussy |
| 07.09.04 (3:13 pm) [edit] |
She could barely believe what she was hearing! Dead? Trying to jump from running board to running board? Who would do such a foolish thing? She had to hear the whole story instead of the bits and pieces she was able to discern from her vantage point in the living room.
“Curiosity may have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back”, she thought. Furthermore, she wanted a closer look at this new man that Clifford had dragged home. She walked out into the hallway.
Bernard let out a whistle and turned to Clifford. “Who is this we have here?”
“My kid sister, Honey.”
“You can say that again. She sure is a honey.”
“Honey, meet Bernard. Bernard, Honey.”
Honey stared at him, anything but demurely. Bernard followed the outline of her ample hips and breasts. She was just the kind of woman he liked. He was sick of seeing these flappers, so thin and flat chested they looked like boys.
“Who died, Clifford?”
“Sonny Clouthier chasing after his wife and some fella. They was both in Model T’s and I guess he misjudged the distance between the cars.”
Honey never took her eyes from Bernard’s. He stared back. She posed in the doorway, turning now this way, now that. He smiled, exposing teeth yellowed from smoking. She didn’t care. The smell of his wet bearskin coat permeated the room. Clifford offered to take it. He took the offensive garment and hung it on the hat rack standing by the door. Under the coat, Bernard wore a zoot suit, pin striped and dapper, but in need of a good cleaning. He was not tall, only a few inches taller than Honey.
She wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by him. Whether he would be rough, or gentle and soft. She guessed rough. Good, that was more to her liking. Clifford continued to drone on about the details of the car accident and the death of Sonny Clouthier. Good riddance to bad rubbish, she thought. None of those Clouthier boys had ever amounted to a hill of beans. She could tell that he liked her, that he wanted to talk to her. She wished that Clifford would shut up. Better yet, that a hole would open in the floor and swallow him up. Leave her alone with this man. Let this man kiss her. Let this man kiss her again and again until she was breathless with desire.
“Clifford, is that you?” called Caroline from the kitchen.
“Yes, mama, it’s me! Say! Have you heard the news, Sonny Clouthier is dead!” And with that he was off to share this exciting news with his mother and the rest of the family.
Bernard pulled a tobacco pouch from his pocket. She simply watched as he rolled a cigarette. Placing it to his lips, he asked, “want a smoke?”
“Mama would kill me if she caught me. Meet me in the cellar in 15 minutes. Then I can have a smoke and you can have a kiss.”
“Where is the cellar?” he called after her. She pointed to a door as she passed it, and with that, she turned and ran up the stairs, giving him one toss of her head as she left. Not for a second did she doubt that he would be there. She went into her room and stood before the mirror. Pinched her cheeks to bring out a blush in them. Bit her bottom lip to redden it. Ran a hairbrush through her bobbed hair and put a drop of perfume on each wrist.
She sat on the edge of her bed and considered potential alibis should she be discovered. Why in the world might she have business in the cellar at this hour of night? What could the answer be. The plan came to her. If asked, and the chance of discovery was remote, knowing her mother’s routines as she did, she would claim that she was hiding Christmas gifts from prying eyes. Perfect. Enough time had passed, it was time to go have a smoke and a kiss, or vice versa.
Honey opened the door, peered out onto the landing. All quiet. She slipped down the stairs and surveyed the hallway. All clear. She opened the cellar door and entered the cool darkness. The door closed behind her. There was the sound of a match striking and the darkness was interrupted with the light from a kerosene lantern. There he stood, lantern in hand.
Honey descended the stairs, swinging her hips in an exaggerated fashion. She reached the bottom stair and stood waiting.
“How about that smoke?”
“How about that kiss first”, she said.
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| Habits and FlyLady |
| 07.08.04 (6:04 pm) [edit] |
FlyLady (courtesy of sister dear -) states that it takes some 28 days for a habit to form.... probably accurate.
My darling Heni has pointed out that I should, if a writer I state I am, write a page a day. That after a year of writing a page a day, I would accumilate some 400 pages, give or take - the average novel.
He suggests the free flow of consciousness theory. Write what is in your head, edit later.
I have requested, and have to date received, encouragement from my very sweet baboo about this writing issue.
My d/f Carol and my darling sister chime in. My sister has reminded me of a sweet ribbon that I won in first grade for writing a very scary halloween story. I wish I had kept that rosette. It meant a lot to me then, I would cherish it today.
I remember my mother endeavoring to write the great American novel "Chickens in the Attic". A sage about life in the depression and my grandfather's attempts to raise chickens in the attic while he put together a henhouse. More information to follow. Suffice it to say that while my mother fancied herself a writer, she was denied the educational opportunities and the opportunities of software that are afforded the likes of me. That being said, that which I write is attributed to my mother.
So my darling Heni has asked that I endeavor to write but a page a day. I have tried to fulfill that objective. I believe that my mother is dancing in heaven, holding the hand of my beloved husband and that the refrain is:
she gets it. she finally gets it.
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| These 10 Things I Love About My Sister |
| 07.08.04 (5:44 pm) [edit] |
1. When my sister loves you, she loves you all the way.
2. My sister loves me all the way.
3. My sister loves dogs.
4. My sister did the bigger part, the more difficult part, the tougher part of helping our mother to leave this mortal plane. I sucked out loud at it, ran like a rabbit. She stood strong, by my mother's side. I am proud of her for that. I was not so good at that. In fact, I sucked out loud.
5. My sister dealt with her husband's very long illness with such dignity and aplomb that she should be annointed. My beloved's demise was by comparison quick. My sister was a stalwart of strength for her beloved, never revealing her fears and pain. She was tough for him. She deserves much praise for the day to day stuff that one deals with with a loved one enduring that kind of treatment.
6. My sister finds value in me. When I have been an absolute asshat (SURPRISE! I can be) she calls me on it, and we review.
7. My sister can turn a sow's ear into a silk purse. Many say it cannot be done. I have seen her do it. She takes a situation that sucks out loud, next thing you know, people are dancing.
8. My sister knows how to make beans and dumplings. Now, I confess, I will not eat them. But her darling wanted them, and she figured out how to do it.
9. My sister is all goodness and kindness and specialness. She took beatings meant for me. She kicked the collective asses of the Sheen twins in 7th grade when their baby sister wanted to take me on for no apparent reason.
10. My sister is cheering me on with my Heni.
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| There is no accounting for the heart's vision |
| 07.07.04 (6:52 pm) [edit] |
When one sees oneself in a mirror, reflected there in the harsh light of a dressing room - i(Oh swim suit season, be gone with your own bad self right now) t is so easy to be judgemental and critical about oneself.
When one sees oneself reflected in the eyes of a lover, it is so easy to see that which is reflected in totality. The spirit, the genuine nature, the value, the total acceptance - warts and all - of the uniqueness that is present in each of us.
I read with poignant memories, my sister's blog - reminiscing of meeting her husband to be. I remember thinking that he had ears that stuck out, a funny haircut and lots of Brylcream. A little dab'l do ya. She says he dressed neatly. I say, what, blue uniform slacks and a white uniform shirt.
That is what I mean. What the heart sees and filters for each of us is different. That heart filter can be so easily crusted with bigotry and narrow mindedness that it could filter out brilliant opportunities for experiences that would take one's breath away.
My sister trusted her heart filter. She courageously allowed herself the chance to risk loving a man that was (to my filter) a bit "different". He was older, he had children, he was different in appearance. But to her heart, he had the most beautiful eyes. Funny, I knew him from the time I was 15. I never noticed his eyes. Because he meant something different to me. Now, make no mistake - I loved him. And he loved me. Sam was good to me. But I saw him as my sister's boyfriend, lover, and husband. Rightfully so, I made fun of him. Brylcream indeed.
But I was talking about the heart and its filter.
That heart filter is an amazing mechanism. It apparently gave this very special person the ability to see past the warts and wrinkles and the too many evenings of tv with cheese and crackers to find some beauty in me.
Who would have thought.
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| Dinner and a Movie - And all that Jazz! |
| 07.07.04 (6:20 pm) [edit] |
What a delight to come home today knowing that this evening was planned out by my own personal Iron Chef!
Heni arrived right on time, seasoned wok in hand. Said wok contained marinated chicken breasts, ramen noodles with cajun spices, and Asian vegetables including baby bok choy. There is another name for it but I have already forgotten.
Then he said, oh - I forgot something. Back to the car he goes. He returns with that glass bowl containing candle and flowers. Puts it on the table, lights it, pours wine, kisses me.
Tells me that I look beautiful, pulled together. Outfit and makeup perfect. Now, mind you - I have been at work all day. I am anything but pulled together at this stage.
The high points? His tender thoughtfulness - just do what you need to do to relax. Do what you normally would do. I will just get this started. Here, let me have a corkscrew - here, have a glass of wine.
Meanwhile, I am putting together tomorrow's stuff and he is in the kitchen cooking - with chopsticks. Said chopsticks that he brought for me.
Dinner conversation? Those little jokes that people begin to develop as they become a couple. You know the ones. Those little things that have come from the history of the time spent together.
I washed the dishes, both of them... He heated up tiny little chocolate covered eclairs. One of which he put in my mouth at the sink. Dreamlike, I tell you. The man is dreamlike. You thought I was referring to the eclair???
So gentle readers, we retired to the salon aka the living room and he suggested that I grab my favorite seat. Which I did. Which he found rather shocking. But I digress. We started to watch Chicago. I will definately have to buy it on DVD.
Fade to black.....
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| Heni is the Sweetest Most THoughtful Man Alive! |
| 07.06.04 (6:05 pm) [edit] |
Tomorrow is Henry's day off. What, dear readers, do you suppose he has up his sleeve, other than his arm? Well, he is bringing dinner and a movie.... to my house. So that I can do what I normally do, since Wednesday is a school night. He apparently has a plan that involves a wok and a set of proffered chopsticks.
I love to watch him cook with chopsticks. That is all. I just love it. It just seems so right.
I think that a very smart peacock would think of his hen and treat her nicely. It is as obvious as the nose on my face that Heni is one smart peacock.
On an aside, I wrote two plus pages of the novel in progress and then experienced technical difficulties. So I wrote version two. I liked different parts of both of them. Only wish that in the creative throes of writing version one, that nagging notion to hit "save as" would have been a teensy bit more nagging... but I digress. Suffice it to say that Henry is motivating me to write a couple o' pages per day and I don't do well with failure to produce. Honey has lost her virginity in the cellar. History is on track. Film at Eleven.
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| Reminders of Why I Gave Mr. Pants Notice |
| 07.06.04 (3:31 pm) [edit] |
Have you ever had someone in your life who liked to keep you slightly off balance? Who seemed to get great delight in undermining your self confidence should you have the mitigated gall to have any? Have you ever known anyone who warranted a special award for left handed compliments? The kind of compliment where you are left wondering whether you have just been insulted or praised?
The above description applies to Mr. Pants. Heni opined that his first name might be "Smarty". Mr. Pants, aka MLC has utilized this technique for the past two years to keep me where he wanted to. Now that I have given notice, you would think it would stop. Oh no. On the contrary.
I offer up this morning's repartee'. I had, on May 25th scheduled a consultation with a person who called in based on a telephone book reference - that is, he was calling a number of different attorneys and hit on us. I managed to get him to commit to scheduling an appointment to discuss formulating a complete Trust package ($750 to $1,000). Now that money could go to any attorney in town....
I created a file, sent a letter confirming the appointment, calendared same, and forgot about it until Friday last. I called, confirmed, and forgot about it until this morning when I was called on the carpet for not putting the source of reference in the computer. I forgot to put "yellow pages" in his info. I should be ashamed. I should be drawn and quartered and deprived of nourishment for what, a month at least?
Because I have given notice, because I have worked out that notice and then some.... When he said, "where did he find us? It's not in here. I wasn't expecting to see anyone today!" My response was, "well it has been in there since the 25th of May and I will ask him when he gets here." And I left thinking - what a freakin control freak are you!!!!
Later, my opinion that he is indeedy the control freak that I have finally realized was once again rewarded with more evidence. See, he bought the building. Every time I go to work I think of Flaring's big crazy gold fish room (and where the hell is Flaring???) because that is, gentle readers, my office. Mr. Pants is within earshot. I cannot yawn without him saying "I heard that". I swear on my mother's cookie jar of ashes.
So remember if you will, the debacle of the bait shop boat parkers? The one where I was required to investigate who towed the cheapest? For this I paid for a college education? To shop for towing services? Now that the parking lot battle has been won, he is on to smoking. Now - we have wealthy powerful clients who happen to be in the indentured servant trade (it is only slavery if you look at it REEEALLL close with your eyes squinted just so). They have leased some of his highness' space adjacent to us.
He put a blurb in the lease about smoking in the back of the building. I waited patiently to see how he would enforce THAT.
My moment came today. I read the paper over lunch (note - no more eating at my desk so as to not inconvenience him - I was gone nearly an hour today - let him fire me!!!! BWWAHHAHAHA). There was a notice that Massachusetts had adopted the no smoking in workplace statutes similar to Florida's.
Looking out the front I saw two of the indentured servant place employees smoking out front. I brought some piece of drivel I was working on to Senor Pantalones and said, gee I see that Massachusetts has adopted that smoking ban in workplaces.
He says "really, that's good". I say, "yeah, what reminded me was seeing our neighbors out there smoking".
He says "they must be out back". I shook my head VERY slowly, nope.
And their OFF! He was down that hallway like a prom dress. Out the door... gone for a wery wery long time. Hehehe.... I am convinced I did the right thing.
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| There is Something Happening Here - What it is ain't exactly Clear |
| 07.05.04 (6:19 pm) [edit] |
Henry is aware of my presence in blog land. I told him about it. I showed it to him. He was fascinated, but a bit intimidated at first. I explained that all that anyone knew was his first name. His anonymity was intact.
Since then, he (being the very very very smart guy that he is... who remembers every detail of every utterance that clears my lips) punched SofP into a search engine. Voila!
I checked my pro stats later that day. Putting two and two together, I came up with something other than the square root of 17. It made me smile to think that his curiousity had led him to this.
I reviewed all that I had written. In hindsight, if I were Heni, and someone were writing such pretty prose about me, I would be the biggest peacock in the meadow. I would be all strutting around.... phhffft.... she's crazy about me. She wants to kiss me.... Hah! Am I not the best peacock ever????
So - let me tell you dear readers this: My sweet Heni is the best peacock in the meadow. I am crazy about him. And I think he's crazy about me.
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| Kayaking Tampa Bay |
| 07.05.04 (5:07 pm) [edit] |
I took Hobie Wan Kanobi out into Tampa Bay this afternoon. Here in sunny St. Petersburg, we have daily thunderstorms this time of year. The opportunities to kayak have been greatly reduced by this and the 40 hour work week.
So Carol and I went out today. I was determined. No sooner had we gotten in the water when the rain started. We slid under a dock and sat waiting out the rain. Tiny little crabs scurried about on the poles holding up the dock. They were the most amazing blue - cerulean, and were the size of a quarter at best. Consider the size of such a critter carefully and be amazed at the wonder that it represents. How can it be hardwired to know how to find food, find a mate, escape enemies that would eat it, and anything else crabs have to know to survive.
The rain fell on the water in huge globs. I looked over toward the shore and there was the most beautiful feather floating. I don't know how I heard this or where, but I have it in my head that it is a good omen to have a bird feather fall that close to you. I paddled out and retrieved it.
The rain ceased. We began kayaking in earnest. Well, after a couple of false starts where I had to adjust equipment. Every time I go out, I learn something new. My difficulty this time was getting the pedal mechanism seated properly. Once underway, I was booking. I went out to the channel marker three. A speed boat thought that they would traverse my path and intimidate me. I would have no part of it. Every time rental boat boy changed direction, I turned Hobie Wan Kanobi to face the wake head on. I can't get swamped that way. They gave up and left.
We paddled and pedaled in big loops. It felt good to work muscles. The water was nearly bathtub temperature, but that was ok. We were out only about an hour when a new batch of thunderstorms could be heard in the distance, but not too distant a distance. We headed in.
There was a man watching us launch, watching us kayak, watching us return to shore. He seemed surprised to see that we can do this, two women, by themselves, hauling kayaks around and clearly able to hold our own.
I love it when I am putting my kayak on the roof of my car and some man walks up wanting to help. With a heave ho, up she goes. I smile, thank them and lash her down.
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| More on Henry and more on kissing |
| 07.05.04 (11:43 am) [edit] |
The saga continues with our heroine firmly ensconced in the arms of one Sweet Baboo. Henry came over this morning to "fix my computer". Who knew that speakers needed a power supply!
This morning's email brought an adorable stick figure person with the sentiment of I miss you.
So my computer issues were resolved and I was soundly kissed and then kissed again and again for good measure. I did do some kissing myself, I might add. The smiles are broader, hands held longer, the whispers sweeter.
We went to find some brunch and gazed at each other once again across a table in a crowded room where we had eyes but for each other. Ah romance. Thy name is Heni.
As far as the rest of my life goes:
1. I wrote 2.5 pages of a new book.
2. I am reluctant to post it here in case it stinks. I sent it to Heni, and will let Carol look at it. Any of you that feel compelled to read it, perhaps some well applied pressure may accomplish your goal - if that goal is to read about the lives and times of some poor folks in New England during prohibition and the depression and rife with illegitamacy and illiteracy and other forms of weakness.
3. Heni is bringing dinner and a movie Wednesday night.
4. I am off to kayak.
5. I intend to get more kisses and give more kisses very soon.
3.
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| Kissing Henry Update |
| 07.04.04 (9:51 am) [edit] |
This morning bright and early, I packed up my bike and headed over to Heni's house. We went for a bike ride. We had a wonderful time. We had to go early so that it would not be so blindingly hot.
Then we went to lunch. We have covered: Japanese, Indian, Chinese, and American cultural differences. We talk about politics and world events. On line and off line dating, how women are mistreated in various parts of the world (prompted by my kidding that I should be 10 paces behind on the bike ride.... his response, "yeah right!") We have discussed our pasts and our goals for the future. We laugh with and at each other. We are having fun.
He says I smell good. I think he is very handsome. He says he finds me attractive. I tell him that he is perfect, that he is tall (5'6" is tall in Hong Kong), dark and handsome. Besides, he drives a nice car (a Mercedes 20+ years old) and he has access to drugs (with a prescription).
He kisses me a lot. He says I am wery wery baaaaaad. I tell him I am not bad, I am just drawn that way.
But the sweetest thing of the day was when he showed me his nicotine patch. I had never seen him smoke. I knew that he did, when he was not with me. But it seems that he wants to be with me some more.
Tomorrow he is coming over to work on my computer again. So forgive me for cutting this short, but I must go and bollux up some of the settings again. :wink:
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| New Hair! Highlights! |
| 07.03.04 (3:09 pm) [edit] |
I got a new cut and color. Sort of red with blonde highlights and lots of wispy stuff. I loved it when I left the salon. Let us see if I continue to love it when I have to do it myself.
Getting my hair done is one of the most enjoyable experiences. It is right up there with pedicures.
On the home front, Lynne's excellant advice regarding cookie deletion seems to be helping with my log in problems.
I have been very busy today, reading Anna Karenina, getting hair done and shopping for cd's and DVD's. I got Cold Mountain for $16.99 and The Others for an additional $5.00.
And of course, kissing Henry.....
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| My Heni is due at 9AM TO FIX A PC PROBLEM! |
| 07.02.04 (8:05 pm) [edit] |
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SO I am going to bed now. kisses to all of you.
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| Dinner with Henry was WONDERFUL!! |
| 07.02.04 (7:04 pm) [edit] |
To say that I am touched by his thoughtfulness would be an understatement. When he placed my plate before me, tears began to well up. But let me begin at the beginning.....
He was in the yard, waiting for me when I arrived. We entered his very comfortable home (mine must really seem like a hovel by comparison - I am surprised that he wants to even see me again).
I gave kitty her little catnip mouse, which she began batting around the terrazo floor with great delight. It was fun watching her slip and slide. Heni gave me the nickel tour - the view in the back is breathtaking.
On the table in the living room was a candle - surrounded by fresh flowers. He lit it, saying " I noticed that you like candles". I was touched that A) he noticed and B) that he went to the effort to pick fresh flowers, surround a candle with them and light them. The devil is in the details, n'cest pas?
He began dinner preparations after making sure that I was completely comfortable and entertained with the musical selection and said Ms. Kitty. I got a peek in his refrigerator - immaculate and organized. Clearly great thought had gone into dinner.
I like looking at him across the kitchen. He cooks with chopsticks. He told me that I looked very nice. He held out my chair, poured me wine, was gracious as any host could be.
When dinner was ready, and I was seated, he plated grouper, fresh asparagus, a lovely rice with peanuts and mint, and black mushrooms - garnished with a flower constructed of a scallion.
That is when I began welling up. That someone would take the time, and trouble to garnish...
Suffice it to say that the food was superb. The company was better. The conversation flows beautifully. We don't take each other too seriously, yet there were moments - magical moments..... and then....... drumroll ...... the kiss.
Oh sweet dear l-rd. The kiss. That first kiss. It soared and dipped and swung from a rafter. It lilted and shifted gears and dipped itself in chocolate. Then it swelled like a crescendo and crashed into a distant shore. It broke to a boil like custard in an unwatched saucepan. It rose like the bosom in a cheap romance novel and the doves all left their nightly roost and the fireworks went off and the world ceased to spin and then.... the air conditioner kicked on in a vain attempt to dispell the heat, cities suddenly found themselves without power as a result and then.... there was another, and another and then yet still more.
Kisses and more like velvet and softness and all that is right with the world. Kisses so soft and tender that you would think we were fragile. Kisses so hard that you would think we would shatter under the weight and depth and breadth of them. Kisses that would hold up to the test of time. Kisses that would undoubtedly be Atkins Approved.
So I have kissed and been kissed and it was wonderful. Film at eleven.
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| update on recent happenings |
| 07.02.04 (12:33 pm) [edit] |
1. Henry is making dinner for me tonight at his home.
2. I thought and thought and overthought what to bring.... he brought a bottle of wine. I am bringing a bottle of wine and a catnip mouse for his kitty.
3. Boss still has not found someone to replace me so today is not my last day.
4. Marlon Brando died and I loved Last Tango in Paris.
5. I am going to kiss Henry.
6. See #5.
If I am not TOO late getting home.... I will fill you in.
Love,
Me
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