Work was amazing. Work was delightful. The ride into work on the train was peaceful and productive. Lots of happy stitches marching along in rows of subtly alternating colors. Breakfast was good, largely because it was pigs in blankets that I made the other night and brought from home. Followed by leftover cookies. Lots of leftover cookies, washed down with pineapple orange juice that I likewise brought from home. And cereal with a ginormous perfectly ripe sliced banana on top, with milk that I [surprise!] also brought from home. And piles filed and electronic filing accomplished, and one report out to claims and a pleading cobbled together from the formatting of an earlier pleading and the text of an email. One of those days when it was easy to smile all day, knowing that the day was going well, and I work with wonderful people, and I was being more than marginally useful, and I would get to go home and watch LOTR and knit until I couldn’t keep my eyes open one moment longer.
You are waiting for the shoe to drop, right?
So I am on the train, and LadyZen joins me, and a nice couple plunks down in the bench ahead of us, and Trainman gets on at the last possible moment but there is no room at the inn, Mary, so he goes down to the landing level where I used to sit, and he parks his carcass. And LadyZen and I start catching up on the past two days.
And the couple in front of us start to kiss.
I didn’t think there was anything that could possibly annoy me more than people shouting into a cell phone, or iPods with music so loud that I could sing along.
You learn something new every day. And what I learned last night is that that man delights in that woman, that he cherishes her, and that I had to put my knitting away because there was noplace to look and not see them, and I wanted to scream and throw things. And maybe poke them with my circs a little to get them to stop.
These were not the fiery, inexpert kisses of my teenage years. Oh no; that I could have borne. He was kissing her the way I would want to be kissed, and he was old enough that had I been the lucky recipient, my LeTourneau Meter would have been blissfully silent. He was Latino and gorgeous, and it is So. Not. Fair.
I took myself to Luciles for a nice bowl of lobster bisque and some of their heavenly rolls and butter. When the going gets tough, the tough eat lobster. I put the spoon down between bites, and I tasted every morsel, and by the time the soup was history, I was far less fragile.
I knew it was no night for romantic comedies. Praise be for LOTR! Heroism and sacrifice and noble music. Lots of explosions. After three hours and 20 minutes, I felt like myself again.
And now it is nearly 1:00am. I am shutting down the popsicle stand and heading off to bed. I will feel much, much better when the sun comes up and I have some breakfast and start checking items off the list.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!