I am so immensely grateful that I have known the joy of a perfect love. I know that perfection is in itself a fantasy and so be it. I have known the rush, the excitement, the joy and the total sensual involvement of loving a person to the depths of my soul and the reaches of my heart.
I know what it is to ache and hunger for a word, a glance, a touch – the slightest recognition of our unique connection as one ecstatic union of two hearts entwined. I remember the emotions that reach to heights unimagined and down to the depths of despair. I know hunger and desire and the proverbial fire and ice that encompasses a relationship of infinite depth.
I hear our music and the experience repeats itself; I see another couple with those lights in their eyes and the electric current that is visible to the initiated, and I smile in memory. I write a story about characters touching these feelings and emotions and I borrow from my own, crying out for them to repeat.
And yet, for all the joy, I am damned. I am stuck forever in a fantasy that will never repeat, a memory that is long past, and a future that will never match that youthful experience no matter how special the person. I am still grateful. The muse that governs my pen and writes the stories was born in those moments and I am comforted. Life is romance; I live in its aura.
I called them on the cell phone and left a message, “Did you hear the weather report? A severe thunderstorm is predicted and I can see the wind already.” Of course, she doesn’t need a cell phone, so she seldom checks hers.
I continued to Hemingway’s at Coconut Point for an evening of dining outside to enjoy the entertainment with friends and their children. The sky looked really black in the direction of the restaurant.
I waited for them in the 30 knot winds and beginning rain that turned to a slushy composition threatening hail. Not another soul was braving the outdoor weather; the musician pulled his equipment to somewhere less threatening.
After several fruitless cell phone calls, I returned home in a downpour with heavy winds; it’s what I call, “God’s free car wash.”
Finally I received a cell call wondering where I was – an hour past our appointed time to meet. They had finally arrived and were enjoying the music – inside. They had no concept of my frustrating waiting time with the impending storm.
It’s only a five minute drive, so I returned. The storm passed and we were able to spend the evening outside in cool air, a steady cool breeze leftover from the storm, huge cumulus still staring down at us in anger, but spent.
The little boys were thrilled with the turtles and fish in the pond below and beyond the terrace. They were also fascinated with the musician’s computer. Fortunately, there were good fences. The group of people that made it through the storm were a dancing bunch, sort of gathering in groups to the beat of the singular musician who managed to sound like a band and imitate Elvis Presley though his appearance came nowhere close.
It was a full evening that had a shaky start but ended with a cool, summer evening among friends, good music and a great atmosphere. Life is good.
I have a lot of typing this week requiring too much sitting in a small office. One joy, however, is the overgrown frangipani tree outside the window. It is a beauty to behold with its spreading branches tipped by wide, green leaves and lovely, delicate flowers set in the middle.
My exercise class starts each Monday right. The one-hour of twisting, lifting weights, marching and stretching bands helps make up for twelve hours a day of writing – though not quite.
The camaraderie of friends who also take the Monday, Wednesday and Thursday class at New Image is really what makes it worthwhile. Sharing an activity with kindred spirits, trying to keep the aches and pains of aging at bay, makes the time pass quickly.
Somehow the cares that accumulate lift during that one hour. The focus is on keeping up, making the right moves, staying in tune with the music and simply, “doing it right” to get the most mileage from the movements.
One of the advantages of working from home is the ability to schedule a day’s activities according to my needs in addition to the work at hand. I am grateful for both the career that allows me to work from home and the choices that I have for my own schedule. Today’s class has me energized for the rest of the day!
The church social following service included root beer floats. My how that treat started memory lane for many of us. We talked about the A & W Drive In after the Drive In movie and a drive to the beach. Convertibles were everything then, those carefree summers along Lake Michigan. Oh, convertibles are still “in” but the drive-ins in general are gone, just a few nostalgia places left. These days in Michigan are far from care free.
The root beer float today was great on a hot summer afternoon on the church screened in porch, the Bahamas fans the only cooling device. The ice cream quickly melted, but the conversations stayed heated. We talked about books we just published, children we are no longer able to help and how we moved here to be near the Gulf and yet visit there much too seldom. A couple men across the table were huddled in a chat about this afternoon’s “game.” It was a Norman Rockwell afternoon, a handful of people enjoying each other’s company and a frosty, cold drink, one of life’s simple pleasures.
I am grateful for undiscovered surprises. Hallmark Gift Shop in the Ace Sunshine Shopping Plaza in Bonita Springs had a sidewalk sign “Moving Sale.” That’s how I discovered the little shop with special gifts for a special person. They moved a couple doors down and now share space with a spa – get a massage and a gift for loved ones at the same time.
Ghost Orchid is now for sale. The delightful women who run the shop set up a display you nearly trip over as you enter the store. There’s Ghost Orchid, a brochure, bookmarks, business cards and more enticing visitors immediately upon entering. The display is exceptional. A poster in the window of the beautiful cover also invites readers.
Father’s Day is a great day to buy copies of Ghost Orchid and tuck them in an orchid plant; men love orchids too. The story is wrapped around a young woman’s search for roots – that lead to the father she never knew. It’s a story of friendship and love, wrapped in the aura of the mysterious ghost orchid, a mystery unfolding one coincidence at a time.
This is the first post of my gratitude blog. Today I am grateful for the thunderstorm last night. I watched the exciting lightning come in from the Gulf through my two tiny bedroom windows, lighting up the sky and the towering pine trees in the distance. I was lulled to sleep by the rolling thunder and the steady hum of hammering rain on the roof. I awoke to bright sunshine and happy little marigolds facing the sun.
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