morning bliss

I woke at five and continued reading The Women's Room, which is more a socialistic study of the 50s and 60s than a novel. Sometimes I could picture my mother's friends' faces on the characters. Uncle Harry was my Uncle Archer raging about Kikes and Koons. In some cases it is predictive of today's time especially with the numbers of people in prisons. This could have been my life, but I escaped the bad, but not the good.

Listening to two gulls having a conversation. Brexit? Frexit? Another bird had his wake up call of an ha hah ah ah ha hah. Somewhere there is a soft coo.

Loved watching Rick sleep, then stagger into the bathroom, bed hair and stagger back. He was back asleep so fast (I'm jealous of his ability to fall asleep in nano seconds) and I enjoy watching him sleep. His facial skin is so soft, his eyelashes long, and he is so substantial. After 41 years of providing my own safety, knowing he is there, gives me a back-up security but I love him for what we share and how we back each other up, his creativity, his humor, his generosity, his kindness and and and...

Eating my breakfast on the patio while Rick was still asleep and realizing every thing I was using had a memory. The glass, cup and plate were all vide grenier treasures and held the memory of Rick and I walking among the tables, holding hands, spying them and saying, "What do you think?" The tray was from Bayeux and the pleasure of Rick discovering the original tapestry. Even the melon from Chez Elizabeth with her cooing, "Reeeeeek and my belle Donna" are memory-laced.

The bougainvillea is finally blossoming and the jasmine is budding.

I am swept away in a tsunami of happiness.