Love is a Thing That Can Never Go Wrong

The husband & Dixie when we first adopted her

It's times like these that make the week. 

As some of you may have noticed, it's Christmas Holiday time. This week. So, it's all crazy-like around the city, state and nation. The husband has been on a night schedule for the last few shifts. He was home last night and even though I'm sick in the head with the pernicious Rhinovirus, I resisted the urge for much needed heavy doses of Nyquil. I tried to stay awake as long as the husband. This was hard. In fact, this was too difficult for my tired, snotty head. I psuedo fell asleep on the couch. . . . . .

The next thing I know, the husband is waking me at midnight with a bowl of freshly hand-popped popcorn, a couple of beers and a "Dr. No" DVD ready for "play". 

I made it until 1:30 AM. I have yet to finish the end of the very first "James. James Bond." But I fell a sleep with the hugest ear-to-ear grin this side of Tejas.

Bienvenue au Canada

Auberge du Vieux-Port
Me looking out our 4th floor window

The taxi the husband and I took from the airport drove through the city completely avoiding the highways. Curious as to why and thinking aloud in a whisper, "maybe he thinks as vacationing tourists we want to see the beauty of Montreal?" While glancing at my watch, I see that it's the middle of rush hour. Mr. Cab Driver had more practical ideas as to why he drove us though captivating neighborhoods instead of efficient highways. Me and my romanticism - the husband just smiled. After some time, we arrived at Auberge du Vieux-Port. It took my breath away. The room was even more intimately alluring. If it is even possible, I fell more in love with the husband while stepping into our room for the next three days.

Finally, I can't resist sharing a bit of history regarding Auberge du Vieux-Port. Rumor has it that Auberge is where "Suzanne" took Leonard Cohen to her loft by the river and fed him oranges and tea "that came all the way from China". Suzanne is actually dancer Suzanne Verdal who is no longer alive, but left immortal due to Cohen's love song of the same name. A precious relationship which produced a highly acclaimed piece of art. And also took me back to many memories growing up in a household that played Leonard's music during family dinners, parties and anytime the TV was off.

So far it was a fantastic start to our much needed vacation.

. . . more pictures to come . . .

A Sphincter Says, "What"

Two knees. One diagnosis.

I have Patellar Chondromalacia. I also have Patellar Subluxation. In both knees. Granted one knee is a bit more famboozled than the other, I'm not going to mention any names left knee, ahem. . . . but they each have their degrees of severity.

You may think that I've won something uber fantastic, such as the lottery where I will sleep in $1,000 bills for the rest of my life. And, really, what rich folk does not do that luxurious behavior? Sadly, no. This is not the case for me even with such fancy-schamncy labels. Chondromalacia means I have inflamed cartilage, like arthritis, but instead of the degeneration which comes with arthritis, chondromalacia is thought to be capable of repair. It is also known as "Runners Knee." Hm. . . . Drat. Anyhow, subluxation means my knee cap doesn't glide properly in the groove it was made for; instead it's being pulled toward the outside of my knee.

So, I now know the reason as to why I had to quit my half-marathon training last year. Both cause some annoying pain, especially with physical activities.

Do not despair though. Good news can be found in all this. With a bit of physical therapy all should be cleared up and ready for more marathon training, hopefully by the end of the October month. Which is when I am supposed to begin my marathon training for Team in Training. A cause that is bigger than myself.

Can I get a whoot-whoot-huzzah?!

In other world news, the husband decided to tangle with a tree on a mountain bike trail at high rates of speed the other day.

The tree won.

I think trees always win. It's in their nature to not lose. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for the husbands face. We are like two old biddies sitting around comparing aches and pains. . . Okay, the husband doesn't gripe. He just looks like a cute in da face Frankenstein-wanna-be.

Have a great weekend, my seven readers. Don't hit your face on any trees. In fact, I'd recommend not hitting any part of your body on any tree. It hurts.

I've Got a Clue So I'm Sticking With You

If you were a hug, I'd be a kiss

Happy 4th Anniversary
I love you

Does This Monitor Make Me Look Fat?

Stoopid schedulers of the husbands work. . . . I mean, that it is nice to actually give him a holiday off, but make him work the entire graveyard shift the night before you give him a day off. That makes total sense, right? Right!

Wrong!

'Cos then on his day off he Will. Sleep. All. Day. Duh.

No wonder this couple in this Longhorn City has no idea what a holiday actually is.

So, thanks for making me go clean on a holiday, thanks for making the husband sleepy for the day and, last, but certainly not least, thanks so much for your consideration. We have learned that in order for the husband to get the day off requested by him we have to specify to not make him work graveyard the night before (it is here that I would like to note to my seven readers, that today was not a "request off" made by the husband. It was an assigned holiday "day off" by the scheduling company.) You almighty smiters. One too many times he's asked for a day off and you give him the night shift before that day off. We are on to your wiley ways. . . . oh yes we are. And, we will be sure to not make the same mistake 5x's.

For serious.

By Fixing It, I Mean, Don't Be Making Up Days of the Week

So. Many of you have asked how my first day/week of massage therapy decided to go for me. In short, it went very well despite the fact that my very first massage client "no showed" on me. Yeah, they did. How nice is that? I was somewhat nervous (read: very), but in the end, it turned out to not be such a bad thing as it calmed me down for my next "official" appointment. I'm weird like that. I also, along the way got edumacated in a few things in the way of massage therapy.

The few lessons I've learned this past week include the fact, most importantly, that you just cannot please them all. Sometimes you are damned if you do and in the same breath damned if you do not. Just go forward and do the best that you can. I now completely understand how the husband feels on a daily basis. You try hard as well as think you do the right/best thing for people. Usually, they will turn right around and bite you in the a** if they can. People are weird, but they are just not worth what leetol sanity you may be clinging onto in this big ole world of ours.

Secondly, I learned that I can give a very, very, very, very deep massage. I did not think it possible that I could go deeper than I already do, but having the most fantastic husband on earth has its benefits. He has been my ever faithful "practice mannequin." And once again, he didn't let me down when I came home telling the tale of someone saying I did not go deep enough. Um. Ow. Please tell me in the session where I can do something about it - not after when I cannot do a thing to fix it for you. End lesson.

Anyway, in the same sentence, I made the husband jump on my massage table to dig my elbows, thumbs and forearms into his fantastically yummy bicycle racing body. My goal was to make him jump from pain. Yes, on purpose. I needed to know how deep was too deep. I'm not a big meannie to the husband. I am a scholar not a hater. I need to know this bit of important information. But . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . the husband feel asleep. Hard REM sleep. Not to be discouraged, I kept on working deep in the tissues of all that I know is the husband. He never jumped. He never woke up. But(!) I learned that I can give a very, very, very, very deep massage, because, I was very, very, very, very deep into the husbands bodily tissues.

Thirdly, ice is my friend. My very best friend.

Which leads me to my fourth and final lesson of the week, I can give three deep massages in one day. And, if it were certain that I could have two more clients who only wanted light therapy, you can be sure that I would be doing five massages in one day. I only give two right now with practice on the husband. This is equivalent to me weightlifting for two to three hours daily. I would sign up for more clients; however, unfortunately, you never know what flavor you are going to get booked with. The front desk tries their best to schedule accordingly, but if a light massage therapist is full and I have an opening, I am going to get that light client. I am completely okay with this as I am a deep massage therapist and having a break from deep would be graciously welcomed in my world. It is entirely possible to get five or more deep massages in one day if I were to open my schedule for that many sessions. Which would absolutely and undeniably kill me. It would. I'm not even being my usual drama queen self. I. Would. Just. Die.

I start up classwork again on Tuesday. Our Advanced Clinical Massage class is still going strong. Kinesiology and Pathology will be the newest classroom additions. Advanced Business and Ethics will be joining soon. I've also signed up to do two massages as soon as class is finished each day. My days will now be getting a bit longer.

And, to think, I am tired now. . . . .

If all ya'll don't hear from me much, it is because my cute little fingers can't lift themselves to type.




I have seven massages therapy sessions down. . . . . only ninety-three more to go. . . .

Stepping In That Thing We Call Love

Words that every woman wants to hear sincerely uttered from their lover, partner, sweetheart, beloved and/or true love:

"You look beautiful today."

Especially, when they murmur it unexpectedly on the day you have chosen not to wear a single drop of makeup.

Don't Hate Me Because I'm a Guy and Burn 26% More Calories

I'm keeping the hater list short today.

I had a burger with goat cheese for dinner tonight - no french fries. Yeah, I'm working that hard to lose those fat pounds clinging for dear life onto my body. I can still taste the onions - three hours later. I hate that. (Shoish-up about the burger. . . ) I know you don't care what I had for dinner, lunch or even breakfast for that matter. I'm just sayin' I don't like the oniony left-behind taste that stays even after you've brushed the pearly-whites. I. hate. it.

Also, I don't like it when I try to take my contact lenses out where the one in my left eye suctions onto my eyeball like an octopuses tentacle desperately hanging onto that poor fish caught for dinner. That hurts.

Anyway, to end on a good note, because my life is not all that awful. I have had a few really good past couple of days with the husband. This is not unusual in and of itself, I know that. But these past few days have been time well spent together. Why? Because I've forgone the thought processes that I KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT ANYTHING (because I do) and listened to the husband. Really listened. And you know what? I learned. A lot.

I think I'm even more in love with him now than I was yesterday.


Please don't puke.





P.S. What do you hate? Tell me what has surprised you in these last few days as well. I want to hear about your hatin' as much as the McLovin'.

I Would Walk A Hundred Miles

The husband and I do not celebrate Valentine's Day in the traditional sense that most other couples in the world do. Each of us love on one another daily, so when this one day a year turns around we decided that we will not buy gifts, cards or go out and spend three times the normal amount on a restaurant only to be hurried out the front door for another couple waiting to be seated. Given time, this may come to pass, but in the meantime, we do enjoy spending time together on this day if we have it. The husband works more than a lot.

There are many reasons as to why we are not VD traditionalists, but I won't bore you with stuffy details (no serious funding previously, bad significant other VD days, bad significant others in general, work, etc.). Suffice it to say that we do try to do Valentine's every year with homemade pizza - yep, everything but the veggies & herbs are hand made - as well as with a few other indulgences. The usual flowers, champagne or wine, chocolate brownies and/or ice cream as well as a heart shaped piece of foodie or two.


In any case, the husband is now in the middle of doing all the dishes himself. Mmmm. . . . such a delicious rarity! I get to sit here and blog about it. I might just go run a bubble bath & relax with a bit of champagne. Or find some nookie! Huzzah!


Anyway, I hope you and yours, as well as my friends out there who are single and proud, had a fantastic Heart Day full of indulgences. . . .

She's Not Doing It; Make Her Do It

There are a few of you out there cleaning, finding 1980 photos, writing about past loves and former lives. Every single one of them has inspired me today. So much so, that I've surpassed on starting my workout until the end of this post.

Today, I've cried. I've Googled. I've ranted. I've caught up. I also began from the beginning, under inspiration, going through my old archives on my oldest of old blogs. When I found one of my favorite entries from when we lived in an apartment waaaaa-ay south of our now Longhorn City. . . . . and, while 4 out of my 7 readers have already read this, I thought to myself, "meh. whatevs." because it so sums up my weekend of cleaning. I just had to repost it. Send hate mail later. I'll get to it after my workout.

Enjoy. I'll get back to original posting soon. Promise.

*********************************************

January 10, 2006

The Husband Shall Not Mess With the Laws-of-House-Keeping

I love my husband. I truly do. But let me just say that there are some issues that raise their ugly noggin’ now and again. Let me explain.

I believe that my messes always make sense. I don’t believe that my husband’s messes make any sense. Take, for example, tonight where the husband got a new toy. It came in a large cardboard box, which is fundamentally normal. In his excitement he proceeded to open the box in the kitchen on the stove while throwing the “paper stuffing” onto the kitchen floor. I know that some of you might think this is normal and some may not. This is; however, not the subject of concern for me. What, my friends, is the matter of question is the clean-up of thrown paper and now big empty box sitting on the stove.

So, I proceed in the most tactful, warm and adoring way that I know how, “Honey, that’s not a very good clean up.” Now, I need you to understand that the husband is a good man who holds one of the biggest hearts I know, but at this moment, I accepted that a demon possessed the love of my life. I was somehow precariously in imminent danger. Flashes of red flowed through his eyes while smoke emerged out of some facial orifices. To which he responded, “Baby. Don’t. Worry. I. Will. Clean. Up.”

Awesome.

Next thing I know, the big box has moved from the kitchen stove to the floor in our make-shift library, whilst the paper joined it in such a manner that it too ended up on the floor next to the box.

I bit my tongue. . .

. . . . but only for an hour. Some of you might think it a mistake to pursue the concentrated effort of normal clean up. Some of you may not. I took my chances and declared, “Honey, you said you’d clean up.” To which he answered, “I did. I put it there for the cats to play in.”

I'm sorry?

Oh. I Love THAT Question. High Five.

me: so. . . .
the husband: ***eyebrows raised***
me: so, the po-po had a speed zone trap on my wa. . .
the husband: did YOU get pulled over?! ***callin' the kettle black***

Pffft. I never.

And, no. I did not get pulled over. If you would just let me finish telling the story. . . .

Miami's Too Hot For All That Leather

I'm not supposed to be blogging about this. I was told I had better not, but. . . . . . . . because I'm evil, I just have to share this lovely tidbit of worldwide goodness.

Let it be known that on Thursday, November 29, 200and7 at exactly 10:48 AM (or there abouts), the husband said, "I will never, ever doubt my wife again. Ever. She was right."




***drum roll*** Hallelujah! ***operetta singing***

[Yeah. I know. I'm going to be in trouble. But this is so worth it. You know, sacrifice for the greater good and all.]

the husband: so. . . . was there a special on syrup?

I Smell a Burrito

While driving to breakfast this morning, we happened to come across a man with a gasoline can. He was walking across the part of the sidewalk where there is an entrance into some sort of shopping center or store or whatnot. He saw that the husband and I were about to turn in and abruptly stopped walking. The husband made a quick motion to the man that it was fine, keep going - it's not a problem. But the man motion the same thing to the husband. In fact, he insisted upon it. So, as we drove by the man I gave him a quick "thank you" wave as well as a mouthing of such words.

And there it was - rock star parking! In all it's glory right in front of us. Just calling out to be completed with a truck in its b-e-a-you-tiful space. This never happens to us. It was a calling from the parking gods that be. "Take. The. Spot." and "It's yours for the taking." Yet, to my alarm, we kept moving which was away from the front spot not reserved for the wheel chair bound or pregger females.

I promptly mentioned a few words of wisdom to the husband as if he didn't already comprehend, "buthere'srockstarparking!" Upon which the husband replied, "yeah, but I don't want to get stopped by that man with the gas can asking for cash."

I thought for a brief moment and responded, "noooo-oo . . . . he's not going to ask for money. I mean, he's out of gas, obviously and wants to get to his car." Most people in this world are good. Not everyone is out for something, right? By this time the husband; however, had already parked the truck in Timbuktu land (as if I can't walk) . . . . He got out and I followed suit. As I was moving myself out of the vehicle I looked for gas can man on the sidewalk just up the street he was moving. I didn't see him. I thought, "golly! The guy moves fast." And turned to find the husband who was stopped and half-heartedly listening to gas can man.

The guy sure did move fast, but only to proposition the husband for money. I stood aside perfectly bewildered.

Once we were able to move on from gas can man, I turned to the husband and said, "I will never doubt you again."

Don't Worry, No One Noticed

How did I manage to get supine on the couch on my very first day off from employment?

Was it from the boundless mileage on Saturday? Was it from the hours of battling wheat weevils Sunday evening? Was it from the day of yard work before that? Or was it, possibly, from the gym workout with my trainer this morning? No, no, no and no. None of these were the cause of my day of dormancy.

I managed to get myself laid out on the couch by parking my truck backwards into a parking space right before my gym appointment. You see, I turned my head to the left, which was done in order to see over my shoulder. That's when it happened. A snap and a burning of pain in my neck. A muscle spasm so tight, you could play Santana tunes on my ligaments that keep my head attached to my body. I couldn't move my head to the left or much of anywhere, actually, without extreme pain. It brought tears to my eyes.

My trainer's office mate is also a licensed massage therapist. She worked on it as much as it allowed me to complete my workout sans a few weight lifting maneuvers. She also provided me ibuprofen. I made it home. I found the heating pad and laid myself on the couch. For hours I did not move. Any slight head movement reminded me that I. hurt. myself. parking. the. truck.

It's not even a fantastic nor an elaborate story. No box lifting. No 20 miles ran. No passionate night at home. No marathon blog typing. Nothing. I injured myself parking.

Parking.




*I will mention that I did manage to run my required 4.5 miles today through the sheer gritting of my teeth. I walked .5 miles to cool down as well. My neck still feels like a Mac truck ran over it. Ibuprofen is fast becoming my best friend today. As is the couch.

**The husband noticed I was laid out on said couch. With a heating pad. Upon asking a few definitive questions he promptly brought me a couple happy pills and a glass of water asking if there was anything else I needed. These pills tried to knock me out, but I fought them hard. They also made me sick to my stomach. I again battled them relentlessly. Even on my afternoon run. I don't see how people like these things? They are absolutely dreadful.

***Though, this renewed my faith in how much the husband really is my knight in shiny, shiny armor! That alone made my day that much better! Even if it was spent on the couch.

****Another good thing, not as good as the husband, but still good was the fact that HBO played "The Holiday". A very top favorite of mine. Though drug induced, I did happen to watch the entire movie. I heart "The Holiday".



I'm going back to the couch now. That's all you get.

I'm Heading Outside. I May Be Awhile.

Princess nominated me for my first ever blog award. A huge big ole bear hug to that girl! I thought I was in some sort of a contest, but then Princess kindly pointed out you win just for being nominated. This was good news, as I read the competitions blogs and I didn't stand a chance. . . . I am genuinely flattered! This also means I get to nominate others to pass on the love. Check back soon!

Know that when someone receives a sting from a sea wasp. . . You. Don't. Pee. On. Them. You use vinegar. And definitely do not rinse with fresh water. The good news of this is that sea wasps only come out of the deep at night, are attracted to light and can be "blown" away with a clearing of the regulator. No, I didn't get stung, but another diver did. Unfortunately for her, it stung her on her lip and down her chin. It looked like a very bad botox job on half of her upper lip. I almost cried for her. It seemed painful.

Swimming sixty plus feet down in the ocean is thrilling. Having a wild Nassau Grouper named, Loretta rub against your fingers because she wants you to pet her is awesome. Yes, she is wild. No, we do not pet her. It could harm her, but she desperately wants it. It was all I could do not to give her some human touch.

Having Reef Sharks as well as Nurse Sharks swim around you, under you and over you is unexplainable, amazing and somewhat anxiety producing. No, we were not in a "cage". We were free diving in these parts. Besides, I always thought Nurse Sharks were like big Labrador puppies - always sleeping on the ocean floor. Seemed harmless enough. It is a bit different when they are swimming around you. Add in some Reef Sharks and you have yourself a mighty fine time with a bit of a fast heartbeat. Do you think sharks can sense fear?

The husband and I also watched a 7-foot wide Eagle Ray. Now, that is a beautiful creature!

A shipmate taught us about Geocaching. The husband and I have spent hours together in search mode. People play it around the world, in the mountains, forests, deserts and even oceans.

I quit my job yesterday. Yeah, I did. My last day will be November 9. If something looks like a duck, acts like a duck and quacks like a duck. Well, it is a duck.

I have missed a week of my marathon training. I felt it yesterday when I had to do a 4-mile run. I only completed 3.5-miles and briskly walked the rest. That made me sad. I felt totally out of shape and completely disappointed in myself.

Today was a 2-miler. I finished that. But not easily. Still disappointed in me.

This past Sunday, the husband and I went to the museum with friends to view the Ron Mueck displays. These were just astonishing, if even a bit disturbing at how life-like they were. I was irritated later on upstairs when I came to paintings of lines. Thick lines. Little lines. Straight lines. Colored lines. Black lines. And one total blue canvas of the same blue hue. Why? Because I did things like that in high school/college art class and it was considered crap. These are worth 100's if not 1000's of dollars. And. they. sit. in. a. museum.

For the second time ever, the husband made me dinner this past Monday evening. Baked salmon, broccoli and mojito's. I did not think I could love someone more than I already love them. It is possible.

It's been cold here in our Longhorn City. Really cold - as in 40-degree Fahrenheit cold! 70's during the day, but 40's at night. That's chilly here for this time of year. I've pulled out my sweaters. Even the dogs are not moving much. They curl up into a ball of fur with their noses tucked out of sight and stay that way.

Why is it lately that all I seem to be doing is dealing with animal poo? I smelled dog poop tonight while rambling in this post. Hence, I began a huge witch hunt for a pile of dung. I never found it. I kept smelling it. I finally located it. . . . on the bottom of my shoe.

I had an English muffin and Boddingtons Pub Ale for dinner tonight. Can you tell the husband's working?

Finally, I get to purchase new eyeglasses for myself this weekend! It's been 2-years since my last update and I am more than excited for new face fashion! In fact, I've already picked them out. I was at the eye doctor before our Provo's trip picking up one last pair of contact lens' when a few of the staff members decided to help pitch in for the new look. Coming soon . . . .

I'm off for a shower, a good book and bed. Thanks for playing.

Enjoy the slide show. It is not as long or as exciting as the Jackson Hole production, but it does have Sting vocaling it out. So, turn it up or down depending on your preference.

Do You Like to Do It Yourself

Apparently, I have a habit that drives the husband batty. It’s something that I have not noticed. Ever. It doesn’t matter if it’s a $20 or $200 bottle of wine, beer, milk, water, tequila, coffee or tea. It's non discriminating, really. Consumable liquids in general are the culprits. Of which I drink a lot of all day long. As well as at each meal.

As I was sitting at a stop light this morning, I took a massive gulp of my recently refilled bottle of Aquafina. And I did it. A secret silent big “ahhhhhh” escaped my lips. I froze. I slipped into a bewildered and discomforted thought, “I DO do it!” And, “it’s unstoppable.”

It’s a good thing he loves me more than my quirkiness’.

Undeniable Relief

Last night, laying in bed before the husband had to leave for work, we were watching a high quality movie, "The Marine":

moi: honey. . . if I was kidnapped, would you come save me?

the husband: I would try, but I doubt I'd be as successful as that guy. . . .I'm not a big bad-ass like he is.
moi: awww . . . . but, honey, you're my big bad-ass! All that matters is that you'd try!

*************************************

There are many things I want to do. There are many things that the husband wants to do. There are many things the husband and I want to do together. This is not regularly possible. Sometimes I no longer feel as if there is enough time. There are always two directions available to each of us. We can take one or the other. I constantly hope that we choose the path of living life even if it proves to be the difficult course. Even if that is not one of the two choices offered.

Both the husband and I have been working long hours; barely passing one another in the bedroom. Lately, "goodbye" and "goodnight" are the staples of our communication. I have foregone the gym this week in order to just have dinner with him - to make sure he has not become a complete stranger. To know I haven't forgotten the lines of his smile, the tone of his voice and the pitch of his laughter. My biggest fear is that the "we" in us dissolves into the "one" alone. I don't want to begin again. I don't want to make my past transgressions once more. I don't want to lose. I've made the mistakes I've already made. I do not wish to go there once more - at least not alone. I am lucky to have the better-half I do as that path won't be trodden.

As an anniversary gift to one another, we have chosen to take a trip to the mountains. The two of us alone together for a week - hiking the Grand Teton National Park. We leave for Jackson Hole Saturday. I've never been. The husband says I'll forever want to stay. I just may. As long as he stays too.

I'll bring back pictures.

Food Is An Important Part of A Balanced Diet (F. Lebowitz)

So the husband said that I could not bring the camera into the one chef's establishment (forewarning: turn sound off/down) that beat the Iron Chef in one of his seven (only) defeats. I wanted to take pictures of the food and wine, not to mention us having a fabulous time, but the husband said with a shake of the head in objection, "no honey. You cannot do that" all stern-like. Flashback 20-years: as if I was standing before my dad and had just done something heinously wrong. . . . I felt like I should go to my room and realized I was already there. Anyway, that was that. I suppose, as usual, he was right. Again. Hmpf. [As a result, you are sadly missing out on some pretty, pretty food and you, unfortunately, will just have to use your imagination as to the presentation of it.]

Likewise, since access to the camera was denied, I made the husband take our picture at home. Before we left. Which means this bit of action from my end made us 5-minutes late for our 7:30 PM reservation.

. . . ahem . . . Oh. Like that's unusual.

Anyway, I can honestly say this, Chef Tim Love completely earned his title to beat Chef Masaharu Morimoto. I cannot even find the words as to how wonderful the cuisine at Lonesome Dove Bistro is. After a filling three course meal, which is made to order, as well as an impressive bottle of wine followed with spectacular chile-chocolate cake, the staff had to roll me out the front door to our waiting vehicle. I'm still full - it's now the next morning. I wish I could relate to you the exact name of all goodies consumed, but they were far more fancy-schmancy-pants than I can remember. Suffice it to say, in a teeny-tiny nutshell, I had spicy barbecue shrimp with spicy fruit salsa, yellow squash fraîche and for the main course deer filet's with white truffle mac & cheese and fried artichokes. My 7 readers, may believe that I ordered the main course for the meat. Alas I did not. I ordered the meal due to the mac & cheese. At a Western Gourmet Bistro.

It did not disappoint. I wanted to eat nothing else.

Finally, I unsuccessfully tried to get the husband to eat the mac & cheese, but he said he had plenty himself. In my usual pesky manner, I did not give up. The husband had to taste this most breathtaking, spectacular and astonishing truffled cheese covered noodles. He needed to. They were that great! He steadfastly refused. So, when I finally accomplished getting him to taste a wee little bit - with a wide opening of the eyes and a, "mmmmm! That's really good!" - my mac & cheese disappeared within 1-minute and 14.3-seconds. Gone. My bowl of mac & cheese. ***

Men. You got to love them.

Still, we had a lovely time with one another. As mentioned previously, the food and wine was stunningly remarkable. Absolutely delicious. I just wish every day could be anniversary day.




***Note to self: all mac & cheese from this day forward is mine, mine, mine! I shall not share. Ever.

Three Years.

You, who are most familiar to me. You. The way you smile, how you hold my hand, how you snore softly, how you catch my gaze from across the room and the way you laugh so easily. We two are similar, but not so much actuality in mirror. Our language, our sense of humor, our love, our laughter and our understanding are one. The same. As if you had been a part of my entire life. How I wish you had been. You have become my soul, my rock, my heart and my essence in my life, my thoughts, my prayers and my dreams. My gift. I am grateful. You add happiness to those who know you and those who will be lucky to cross your path.

You are kind, thoughtful and generous. Pure. Unassuming and revealed as much as necessary. You are sensitive, careful, diplomatic, reliable, calm, intelligent and strong. Teaching me the same. You are handsome and loyal. Choosing to look past that of which I am. I am perplexing, clownish and headstrong. Sometimes disheartened. I am erratic and occasionally distant. And yet, you still hold a deep love for me.

You saw through my brokeness, my flaws, my vulnerability and my blotched mascara. You could have left me, but you chose to take me. I have finally loved the right person.

Happy anniversary, Thomas. I love you.