Today is Veteran’s Day. Every Veteran’s Day, I sent Mr. Virgo a note thanking him for his service. His father was a veteran. His late daughter was a veteran. My dad, my uncle, my first husband, my niece, my late father-in-law…all veterans. Mr. Virgo had military honors at his funeral. I cannot hear taps without feeling a catch in my throat. This time of year brings him closer to the surface.
OMGosh! I broke my absolute cardinal rule yesterday and…gasp…bought a piece of furniture! I know, I know…you all were with me when I downsized and I absolutely SWORE I would never accumulate “stuff” again. BUT…things are different now. A lot different. I’m not living in a camper, for one thing. For the last three years, my desktop computer has been riding in my camper, under the bed, in an airtight plastic storage tub. There have been numerous times I’ve needed to use it and I have to go out, prop up the bed, haul it out, and put it away when I’m done. Ok, ok…I’m rationalizing. Here’s what happened.
I’ve always loved to sit in front of a nice fire with a cup of tea, a comforter, and a stack of magazines. I haven’t had a stove or fireplace to sit in front of since my youngest was a baby. She’s twenty-seven. We are fortunate to have free gas at the farm so we have a couple ventless gas stoves to ward off the chill in the far reaches of the house. But they don’t look like a wood stove and are situated where sitting near them is impossible. I was delighted when Mr. FixIt showed me his house for the first time. This gas stove sits in the family room and is perfect for getting cozy on a cold, wet November afternoon.
Mr. Fixit is doing some cleaning up and updating at his house. We make a really good team working on projects together and he is constantly amazed at the things I can do. I think it really shocked him at first when I did jobs around the farm that may have been labeled “men’s work” in an earlier time. He’ll still watch me do something and shake his head. I usually look at him and say “What?!” He’ll laugh and say, “You amaze me, that’s all. You’re a remarkable woman!” I love that. I love being considered a remarkable woman by a man I greatly admire. It makes me feel both feminine and empowered at the same time.
I watched the news last night and was reminded why I don’t watch the news. The sadness in my gut, the fear in the front of my mind, the sorrow for families of loved ones lost to senseless tragedy is unbearable. The news came through an alert on my cell phone as we left church yesterday. I grabbed Mr. Fixit’s hand and shared. His jaw clenched as he gripped my hand, silently taking it all in. Thinking…no doubt…that it could have been us.
It seems like yesterday when I traced the delicate shell of my first baby’s ear. She was so tiny at just over five pounds. I was terrified I would break her. That was forty-three years ago. Twenty-seven years ago, I did the same thing with my second daughter. Thirteen years have passed since my first grandchild was in my arms and ten since I cradled her little sister. I thought it would be a long time before I got to hold a little baby again. But, along with Mr. FixIt came a brand new great grandchild and I’m in love all over again!
Some very observant readers picked up on something in my picture yesterday. My inbox lit up like a Christmas tree! I didn’t answer the questions directly and suggested they come back today to read my post. I love a little mystery. What was it they saw? A ring…a shiny ring…on my left hand!!! squeeeee
Yes, I have a ring! And in all fairness, so does Mr. FixIt. I gave him his first though. So here’s how it went down, what it means, and how we’re feeling about it.
Three thousand seven hundred sixty-four. That’s how many days came between these two pictures. On the left, the day I married Mr. Virgo. Is it any wonder that handsome man wanted to marry me??? Look at that fresh face, smooth skin, dark hair with just a smattering of gray. Where are the wrinkles around my mouth? Where is all the proof of my sorrow and my joy?
Prehistoric Google
Hubby #2 is a pretty smart guy. Even so, when he was in medical school, he had to study really hard for the grades. Once he graduated, he started getting medical journals delivered to the house. JAMA…the Journal of the American Medical Association…was the biggest one. Lancet…the British equivalent. There were issues dealing with pathology, dermatology, cancer. There are a zillion of these magazines that doctors get and they have a name for them. Except for the top two or three, doctors refer to them as “throw aways”.
I think the first time I remember really looking at the stars was when Sputnik was orbiting overhead. My dad came and woke me up and said, “Come with me…I want to show you something.” He helped me into my coat and we stepped outside into the cool, night air. I was instantly alert, fully understanding this was unusual and an adventure. I shivered with the thrill of my dad sharing something special with me. That didn’t happen very often.