He Comes. . . .

MyFella often, and regularly, accuses me of overbooking plans for the weekend. What I've tried to make him understand is these people aren't calling for me. They can see me any time.

The texts, calls and emails will start around Thursday.
"Is he coming this weekend or are you going there?"
"Oh good, I want to see him."
"What are you doing for . . . "

and then I end up with a weekend full of meal events with friends, and he'll huff and puff and blow on about it all. He thinks I'm just lining up time with my friends and we don't have any time alone.

It started again last night.
"Is he coming this weekend for the birthday party?"
"I want to go out for supper tomorrow night."
"Text him and tell him yaw are going out with me."

I stopped it and said, sweetly, "You text him."

A minute later I get a text from him. "Are you with her?"

And now I get to complain all weekend, "You've planned the whole weekend! There's no time alone for just us! You always do this!" I wonder if I can control the amount of sarcasm and irony in my voice.

Yahoo!

So, on Yahoo there's this article about Iran's morality police. Not that I would ever want to live in Iran, and if you look at countries like that, you can understand why we have so new immigrants here. (Because, really, aren't most of us descended from immigrants?).

So there's this photo in the article - it could be stock, I'm not sure. But there's an Iranian police man and a guy arrested for his trendy hair and shirt.

And yes. In stereotypical fashion, I thought they were both hot.

P.S. As a disclaimer, I don't usually find men from the Middle East attractive.

Fort Knox

"Do you feel like Fort Knox today?" he asked. I didn't understand what he meant. He's a gentleman a little older than me, and I forget sometimes that I'm well into my 40's. I'd say he's in his 50's. And I'd say he's lived a lot. He always has a good fishing or hunting story and seems to have covered most of this part of the country with a rod and reel in his hands.

As we talked yesterday, we realized we know a few of the same people, and that he was probably doing some contract work at some places at the same times I was working there. And now he seems fine working here in a cleaning position, as long as he can get enough hours to make ends meet. He's done a lot of labor jobs, a lot of dirty jobs, climbing through ceilings and under floors, and working for "the man."

He stopped through once or twice and borrowed a dollar, and always brought it back. But still, I didn't make the connection to the statement. "Do you feel like Fort Knox today?" He said he's poor til payday. Needed 5 bucks. I had 4. In truth, I started keeping one dollar in the drawer for him anyway.

And I thought, "How bad off you must be, if you need to borrow money from me, of all people." I'm certainly not wealthy, by any means.

But I've got plenty to eat for lunch today, my bed was warm this cold morning, and I haven't borrowed any money lately.

I think when he returns the $4, I'll just tuck it back in the drawer for the next time. Maybe even find another one to go with it.

Loving

So there's this great article on Yahoo about the love story, and social unrest in Virginia surrounding an interracial couple, Mildred and Richard Loving. I'm sure the little blurb sent hundreds of people to Wikipedia and other sites to learn more about it. Rediscovered photo's bring the topic to light thanks to an HBO special about the couple.

Me, however? I'm so gay, so typical, that my first thought on seeing the pictures was, "Damn he's hot!"

Juice Newton

I like to tell the story that MyFella and I met at a church meeting while "doing good works." Truth is, that's just the story I like to tell. But we count our face to face meeting as one of a couple of "anniversaries" we celebrate.

He was in town for a work related association meeting he attends regularly, and I left work early to drive out to a restaurant and meet him. The association meets every other month on the third Wednesday of the month. It was January.

Maybe it's a coincidence that I haven't opened my wallet this week until this morning and found a handwritten note. "I love you and have for years."

The sweetest thing I've ever known . . . .

Christmas Traditions

Christmas Traditions

One recent trip home, just before Christmas, my mother told me a cute story. Young Ragamuffin Nephew #2 had asked his Granny, “Granny, do we have any Christmas traditions?” No doubt the topic of some discussion in his 1^st grade class that week. Granny had replied, “Yes” and she talked to him about the way we exchange gifts and have a meal together at her house, which is located less than 1 mile from his home.

Older Ragamuffin Nephew # 1 said, “You know Uncle comes and spends Christmas Eve with us since I was born so he can watch me open gifts.”

Yes, Young Ragamuffin Nephew is all of 6 years old now, but his big brother stated clearly that I come home to watch him open presents on Christmas morning.

The ritual has included a few other things, from my point of view. The year before # 1 was born, I received some rather terse phone calls from my brother and his wife, asking when I would be in town for the big family get together they were hosting in their home. But I had other plans and would be in later that evening. Come to find out I was missing the announcement that # 1 was on his way, and would be here for the next year.

And since # 1 has been old enough to hold a phone, I’ve received Christmas Eve phone calls asking when I would be there. And again, I usually had plans to see Sissy and Kitten and their family for a little while, before continuing on to my hometown. So while # 1 knew I was coming, much like Santa Claus, he just wasn’t sure when I would arrive.

And there’s always the ritual of fighting with # 1 somewhere in the middle of the night, after Santa has come, because he wants to open everything, even though he and I are the only 2 people awake. Last year I had sense enough to ask their Dad, in front of them, to give us some direction because the year prior had resulted in an almost two-person breakdown. This year I forgot, so the first go-round was 2am before Santa came, and the next was closer to 5a.m. At 5:45a.m. I told both nephews to go to their parents room and wake them up.

And that’s when the magic begins. I love the look of the lit tree in the dark room, with the lights reflecting on the shiny paper of wrapped gifts and the glossy plastic of the things Santa left. Then come the sounds of “oooooh” and “look at this!” followed by, “Daddy, open this!” and “Momma, look at this!” In a mere few minutes three pairs of adult hands are full of gifts and borrowing from each other scissors and pocket knives to hack our way through all the ties.

And then Uncle discovered his next favorite Christmas tradition – taking a Christmas morning nap.