All of yesterday was dash-dash-dash. Run, run, run. Race the clock, try to beat it.
I found new pants which are going to CHANGE MY LIFE at the T.J. Maxx after the house-signing and I am not kidding you. They are black jeans, corduroy and they fit me and they will look good with anything so that was worth the time.
But then I raced home and made the soup and finished the laundry and dealt with the chickens and took a shower and put on mascara and my new pants and got in the car and drove to town and dammit- traffic. I forgot traffic. Of course I got stuck behind everything including a fire truck who was obviously lost and I had to stop and get gas because I am one of those people who, if the needle is anywhere below half, freaks out. Yep. That's me.
And it was almost in the red!
Every second was ticking away and I could see Mr. Moon coming down the hallway and where was I? Where was his wife?
Stuck behind traffic.
I finally got to the airport, parked, flew into the building on legs, not wings, and yes, there he was. Walking down the hallway.
Ah. Sigh. Mr. Moon was home.
Of course the airline lost some part of his deer and we had to deal with that and then we drove to Lily and Jason's so Mr. Moon could see how big Owen is getting and there was some snuggling and smiling and fussing and snorgling and sniffing and hugging and kissing.
And then home. Finally home. With my sweetie.
I took him into the guest room and...
No. Not that.
"Gas!" I proclaimed.
He sniffed and said, "Well, to me it smells like something dead."
And just like that, I realized he was right. It IS gas, but the sort of gas which escapes from a dead critter (rat, possom, squirrel?) under the house and which seeps up into the room with noxious intent.
Well. You can't die from THAT smell. But I doubt anyone will be sleeping in there for a few days.
We ate soup, we went snuggled a bit. We went to bed. He said it was the coldest night he'd had in ten days- I like to sleep with the window open and many covers on top of me. Again- that's me.
And this morning he stayed in bed late for him and that was lovely and now we're up and there's a lot to do but he's home.
And suddenly, it all makes sense again on a different level and again I realize- where he is, that is my home, and it's been nice having time to myself but mostly because I share my life with this man who always comes home and I can count on that.
Buster's happy too. Can you tell?
And it's a beautiful day in Lloyd, Florida. Crisp and cool and the man is home. I have new black pants, I think I know what I can wear to the wedding events, I can kiss my man any time I want, there is no gas leak, my soul is at rest, my heart is at peace.
So okay. He just came in and said, "How about a picture with my horns?" And so I took a picture of him with his, I mean, the deer's horns.
Can I tell you how much I never once in my life had any thought that I'd marry a man who not only hunted but who would want me to take his picture with his deer horns?
Well, life is strange and frequently works out in ways you'd never imagine.
I should have gotten a picture of him snuggling Owen or cuddling Miss Betty which he also just did, but I didn't. Those, of course, would have been more of the style of Bless Our Hearts but by now he's part of whatever style it is I have and so there you have it- Mr. Moon holding his deer horns. My dear man with his deer horns.
He's home. He's safe. He's happy. He's well.