About Me

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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!

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Observing the tribe (his).

I spent a good chunk of the party sitting in the kids’ loveseat with Beloved’s sister, watching the last of the food preparation. What the boys lack in numbers, they make up in volume. All of it, last night at least, good-natured.

The kids’ house is lovely. They’ve chosen a warm neutral palette, and it works. The couch, loveseat, and ottoman are covered in a subtle rust paisley. (All the Beloved menfolk are mad for paisley; works for me. [In Beloved’s case, this would include Brad Paisley, which also works for me.])

When Beloved’s firstborn was married last year, there was a superabundance of food. One of the dishes looked as if it held taquitos. Not a big fan of the taquito, so I passed. I have since learned that I missed eating lumpia, which are Filipino and are to the ordinary Tex-Mex taquito what cashmere is to Red Heart. I did not repeat that mistake last night.

We have slightly simplified our schedule for today. After complicating it a little. We will leave shortly for Arlington. I will drop Beloved off in about an hour at my insurance agent’s office. Beloved wants to discuss some aspects of the homeowner’s coverage in person. While they are doing that, I will be getting my pits and face waxed at the spa. Then my agent will drop Beloved off at the spa on his way to his next appointment, and Beloved and I will go to my bank and put him on my account. I am hoping that the changes do not immediately invalidate my debit card, as I pay a lot of my bills that way. The next couple of weeks could get interesting. I may need to borrow one of Beloved’s gas credit cards to keep Lorelai happy. We are probably going to defer putting me onto Beloved's bank account until next Saturday, as that is less critical than getting my bank account into my new, married name.

And then we scurry back here and pick up his sister at the kids’ house and take her to the airport. They had a good, productive meeting with their mother’s doctors yesterday. His sister put the fear-of-Beloveds into the young and somewhat cocky cardiologist.

Gotta scoot. I need to look up some addresses for Beloved, and one for me. Life is good.

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