When my wife goes out of town I open the windows and turn down the thermostat. Same phenomenon, just reversed. We're lucky to have them to help us steer our ships, but still a man does need what he needs.
Poor Henry James. His older and wiser brother William wrote much less soporifically. And told him so.
4 a.m. is when deep thoughts that can change the world or my soul come to me, but I rarely have a notepad close by to write them down and have forgotten them by morning. Oh so close to make a difference.
The eve of of Trump’s election kept me up. I live near a train stop and when I heard the rumble of the box cars slowly stopping, I thought of the poor, poor people in the Auschwitz box cars.
Real thoughts are best expressed within the confines of dark and lonely. We are yet in the fifties, two thirds of the way to empty nest ... we have our own coffee (his ground, from Costco, mine whole beans, delivered by the sweet lady who also roasts it). He talks while I drink mine (and I eagerly anticipate his next travels, so that I can drink my morning brew in quiet ... but then, I miss his feet touching mine while we morning together). This is life, in community of two.
my wife says I make the coffee too strong and sometimes I think about what I'll do for breakfast on her out-of-town trips to visit family.
When my wife goes out of town I open the windows and turn down the thermostat. Same phenomenon, just reversed. We're lucky to have them to help us steer our ships, but still a man does need what he needs.
Poor Henry James. His older and wiser brother William wrote much less soporifically. And told him so.
4 a.m. is when deep thoughts that can change the world or my soul come to me, but I rarely have a notepad close by to write them down and have forgotten them by morning. Oh so close to make a difference.
GK, once again, you have made me and the hubs smile and laugh! Thank you! 🎉
A beautiful reverie.
The eve of of Trump’s election kept me up. I live near a train stop and when I heard the rumble of the box cars slowly stopping, I thought of the poor, poor people in the Auschwitz box cars.
I cried. And cried.
Real thoughts are best expressed within the confines of dark and lonely. We are yet in the fifties, two thirds of the way to empty nest ... we have our own coffee (his ground, from Costco, mine whole beans, delivered by the sweet lady who also roasts it). He talks while I drink mine (and I eagerly anticipate his next travels, so that I can drink my morning brew in quiet ... but then, I miss his feet touching mine while we morning together). This is life, in community of two.
Carole