My day was a relatively simple one today. Noticing there was a lull
in the rainfall, I looked out the livingroom window and saw that my variegated Iris’
are blooming; and the purple-striped-petunias in the Leek/Snow-pea planter box is
filling out pretty nice, too. So, encouraged by those bright spots of color and
the silence of a break in the spotty light, but very wetting rainfall, I hurried outside and fleshed out a few
more garden boxes with veggie transplants …
Hopefully my tomatoes will survive the transplant ... a full-blown-rainstorm blew in later on.
Listening to the playback on the videos, I realized my aching tooth
is affecting the sound affect – my jaw hurts clear into my ear; it hurts to
move my jaw too much.
So, after I was done dinking around in the garden boxes,
I came inside and left a voice message in Dr. Anderson’s mailbox to get back to
me with a scheduled appointment to have my tooth attended to: I was supposed to
get this done before inslee started his nazi muscle flexing that shut
everything down; now the tooth is really letting me know it needs to be
attended to. The Dental Office is “closed until further notice”, but Dr.
Anderson is “on call for emergencies” … this tooth pain is beginning to feel
like the start of an abscess building: to me that qualifies as an emergency. Covid-19 doesn't concern me as much as an infectious abscess does. I hope Dr. Anderson hears my message the same way.
Practically as soon as the phone convo ended – another began.
Apparently, my friends are feeling safe enough to start socializing
again – and that is okay by May 11th’s State Guidelines (‘no
more than 5 people from outside your immediate family’ to a gathering: we’re
safe). Supper invitations are being extended to me as people’s
social bubbles expand. Monday, I had Supper with some friends out Coal Creek
Road; and this afternoon I got a phone call from a friend up Toutle way, calling
to see how I’m doing. He said, “We heard about Bob’s passing a while ago,
but wanted to give you your space; I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you.
You guys were always holding hands and smiling at each other like you had a
secret. You two had real love; it must be hard on you. But now, we want to see
you, Val. We want you to come for Supper soon … and stop in next time you’re in
the neighborhood – also text me your address, so we can pop in. We miss you.”
It was good to hear his voice; Carl and I were friends first … we met one
afternoon when we each took our kids out on their Hot Wheels trikes around the Paradise Cove Park
grounds – we started talking to each other, and never stopped. LOL. We all
became fast friends 22 years ago, while neighbors at Paradise Cove – our
granddaughter and their son were the same age, and grew up together for several
years; no matter where we all had moved on to, we stayed in touch. Now our kids
are married. He understood about the 2 year lapse, but he also said, “I
can’t believe it’s coming up on 2 years. It’s time, Val; we need to get
together.” I agree.
I’ve missed him and Becky – it felt good to smile when I heard Carl’s
voice; it felt good to laugh at his lame jokes that he knew would make me
laugh. It was music to my ears … and balm to my healing heart when he
spoke Bob’s Name without hesitation or uneasiness.
Bob loved my smile and the sound of my laughter.
I smiled and laughed a lot because Bob was in my life. I wore my
smile like some women wear jewelry – bold and flamboyant. I laughed because
Bob loved me just the way I am. It felt good to be loved so unconditionally.
My life was magical and beautiful because he was in it.
We gave each other joy, and that joy permeated the air around us.
Bob was a joyful man; he laughed all the time – I learned to laugh because he
filled my life with love and passion. Our laughter echoed off everyone near us.
We looked at each other with a love that everyone could feel sizzle the air;
our words were always laced with heartfelt love … and people that heard us loving
on each other knew it was real.
The smile Bob loved to see me wear was effortless: he put that
smile there, and I beamed it back at him.
Life was good for 44 years.
And that is an understatement.
Life can be good again – not as good as it was when Bob
brought magic into it; but it can be simple good again ;-)
My friends know how to tap into that smile and laughter Bob left me with.
Simple can be good, too :-D
