The Man Comes Home

 My sweetheart is home again. 
I drove to the airport to get him and of course I had to get there about an hour early because one cannot be late for airport pick-ups and also, I'm always worried that I'll get lost on the way because the airport is practically in a different state, so I just sat in the terminal where the people come out when the planes land and read my New Yorker and people-watched although really, the number of people in the Tallahassee airport on a Sunday early evening was not very impressive. I saw him before he came through the glass doors and was up on my feet and ready for a hug and a kiss which I got. 

I do believe that George Clinton was on his flight home. Clinton lives here and I saw what looked like a band to me come through the doors and head to the restrooms while a very good-looking older gentleman wearing a cowboy hat strolled on down to the baggage pick-up area. So that was pretty exciting. 

I almost had to get a little perturbed with my husband when we exited the airport and I took a left instead of the right he would have taken and he said, "That's the longest way home," and I said, "But this is how I go," and by golly, I do believe that route is shorter. The one I took, I mean. And he agreed later on. I drove because he was tired. I sure hope he can sleep tonight. 

Meanwhile, we came on home and Maurice saw him and pretended not to register his presence, strolling off in an opposite direction. She will probably be ignoring him for days to let him know how much he disrespected her by leaving. I had a conversation with her before I left to go pick him up, explaining that he was coming home and I think she understood me as she meowed something that sounded appropriate but she is who she is and the girl can hold a grudge.

Here she is, once again, pretending that she had no idea where I was when I was watering the porch plants while she lazed directly beside the porch. 

I've got late-bloom green beans cooking and a piece of Glen's grouper marinating in buttermilk and lemon juice and I'll heat up tomato pie and make some grits. This is my love language. Cooking food that we grew or he caught, food that tastes like home. He had a really good time but I think he's pretty darn happy to be back. 

I sure am glad he is. 

Love...Ms. Moon