It snowed last night; not a lot, maybe 3-4 inches, just enough to cover the ground and make everything seem new again. Gwen and I loved it when there was new snow. We would go for a walk in it; hold hands like a couple of kids. We kidded ourselves that we held hands to keep each other from slipping and falling. . .that wasn't the reason at all. Max The Wonder Dog would be with us, tugging at his leash and frolicking in the snow: dogs do frolic sometimes. I would throw a snowball for him to chase, and he'd dig furiously in the snow where it landed; then get that puzzled look on his face when no amount of scratching and digging would turn up the snowball. Those were such good days.
The blanket of fresh snow did motivate me to put out some Christmas lights this afternoon when the sun shone brightly and it wasn't too cold. Gwen loved decorating for Christmas; outside lights were a bone of contention with us. She thought that I put them out too soon and kept them up too long. "What's wrong with having a Christmas Wreath hanging on the house on Valentine's Day?" I would ask her. Now all of that seems so unimportant and inconsequential.
My memoir-writing group went well today; we've become quite a cohesive group and have begun to loosen up with each other. It's fascinating to hear others tell stories about their lives. As is the case with writing this blog, I find it to be a good discipline to write something each day.
You wouldn't know it by reading what I've written here, Dear, but I'm very lonely for you tonight. I was walking through Macy's this afternoon, in the petite department where you always shopped. I sat on the chair near the fitting room, remembered waiting for you there. On the way out I saw a sweater that I thought would look really nice on you. Then I remembered. . .
The blanket of fresh snow did motivate me to put out some Christmas lights this afternoon when the sun shone brightly and it wasn't too cold. Gwen loved decorating for Christmas; outside lights were a bone of contention with us. She thought that I put them out too soon and kept them up too long. "What's wrong with having a Christmas Wreath hanging on the house on Valentine's Day?" I would ask her. Now all of that seems so unimportant and inconsequential.
My memoir-writing group went well today; we've become quite a cohesive group and have begun to loosen up with each other. It's fascinating to hear others tell stories about their lives. As is the case with writing this blog, I find it to be a good discipline to write something each day.
You wouldn't know it by reading what I've written here, Dear, but I'm very lonely for you tonight. I was walking through Macy's this afternoon, in the petite department where you always shopped. I sat on the chair near the fitting room, remembered waiting for you there. On the way out I saw a sweater that I thought would look really nice on you. Then I remembered. . .
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