Little Stories

I went to get my coffee this morning and found this in the kitchen on the center island. Back a few weeks ago when I pruned all the roses I picked the ones still blooming and brought them in and put them in a vase and let them dry. Every day I scrape up the petals that have fallen and I've kept them on a pretty little plate with another love note I got from my sweetie, written on a piece of index card which is how they are usually presented. 

The issue I said I was working on yesterday had to do with the fact that Mr. Moon decided that HE could and HE would be the one to take care of all the rat damage that had been done which included a lot of replacing of insulation and ceiling tiles (I think) and cleaning and cleaning and cleaning and cleaning. I have already discussed this. But as the week progressed and the hours he was spending doing that horrible, awful, Herculean task accrued and he got more and more exhausted, I started feeling more and more angry. 
Not because he wasn't home from dawn until sometime after dark, but because he is seventy years old, and watching him try to do something that a thirty-year old would hand over to a team of professionals was killing me. I worried about him so much. He would come home, take a very long shower, fall asleep in his chair, eat supper, fall asleep in his chair again, and then come to bed. And that was it. 
I saw his father do something very similar once although I am almost certain that he was younger then than Glen is now. He and a crew of carpenters that were friends of ours with Glen helping when he could (he was running Moon Tire at that time) built a house for himself and Glen's mama to live in. In the deepest, hottest part of summer. Paw-Paw was staying with us and Grammy was still up in Tennessee because they hadn't sold their house there yet. And every evening, he would come back to the house from working all day long and sit on the edge of his bed for awhile, and wait for his turn to get in the shower. He'd drink coffee, he'd eat his supper, he'd go to bed, he'd get up and do it again. 
And he built that house. 
There's a whole lot more to that story but that's the part of it I've been remembering while Glen has been working so very, very hard, never complaining, just getting in there and doing what has to be done. BUT NOT BY HIM! As I pointed out repeatedly. And he completely ignored my protestations, and he finished the job today. He and Chip. It is done and it is done to his specifications which means that it's done very well. This too, is something he got from his father. 

As well as his love of being on the water, going fishing.
Hank was going through pictures today and that's one he found. You may be able to tell that Jesse Moon, his dad, was a very handsome man but he was also one of the best, hardest-working, family-oriented, loving men I've ever met. He's been the yardstick against which Glen has measured himself his entire life. 

And yes, I named Jessie after him. That sweet little baby girl was given the same name, though spelled differently, as her very good grandfather who, in fact, was named after HIS aunt. 
Perfect. 

And once again, here I am, writing about something I never planned to write about this evening but I'm glad I did. I suppose the point I was originally trying to make is that my frustration with Glen for risking his health unnecessarily came to a head a few nights ago and for the first time in a long time I couldn't find it in myself to hide my anger and my fear for him. And it made him feel so very, very bad. It was a bumpy little spot in the road, it was a slight roiling of the water in the pond. But all is well now. He did what he wanted to do, despite all of my protestations, he has made it clear that he does love me very much, and he is my boyfriend once again, leaving me a love note, written in rose petals.  
And I guess I have found out, once again, that he is capable of far more than even I give him credit for. 

So I've been a little sick today. Last night I was feeling a tiny bit nauseous for no apparent reason. I had eaten enchilada casserole for supper. It looked like this.

Now is that not pretty? 
But Glen felt fine. No nausea or stomach upset at all. 
However, I had a very hard time sleeping which is unusual for me. And at 5 this morning, I had to get up and reenact the colonoscopy prep although not quite that intensely. Whoa! 
I didn't even get up until after nine. Not only was I not feeling well, Maurice decided that she had to sleep on my legs all night long. I have often referred to her as my nurse cat because whenever I am sick or injured, she seems to want to stay close. Which is so sweet and lovely but every time I tried to move my legs in the bed to get more comfortable, she gave me her angry, bitchy little yeep sound which is neither comforting or pleasant. 

Here she is checking in on me. 

All day I've felt achy and tired and I even took a nap this afternoon. There are a lot of viruses going around and it may just be my turn to get one. 

Here's the fruitcake I made yesterday for no apparent reason except for the fact that I had more candied fruit that I simply could not let go to waste. 

Today I wrapped it up in cheesecloth like an Egyptian mortician, determined to preserve the freshness of a corpse for the ages. 
Except they used herbs and secret salts and resins and I used Kirkland brand spiced rum and I only need to preserve it for for six days. Other than that: same-same.

Love...Ms. Moon