This morning

Lying, drifting,
So close to sleep,
Yet unable to surrender.
Smiling, my head on your shoulder,
You sleep so soundly.
The beat of your heart
Lulling me and yet
Anchoring me in wakefulness.
The rise and fall of your chest
Rocks me gently and
Your breath in my hair
Sighs a lullaby.
I look up and kiss your chin lightly and
Your arm around my shoulder
Squeezes gently, unconscious assurance
That all is well, that I am safe,
Silently requesting that I stay.
I know I will not find sleep like this
But my fingers move across your chest
Feathering a silent but conscious assurance,
“I’m not going anywhere.”
We sigh in unison.
I smile and begin to drift again.

When my mind finally half-rouses and
I open my eyes to blink in the shade-filtered dawn
I am still floating in my dream-memory.
I swear I can feel your heartbeat, your breath, your touch,
Smell the warmth of your sleeping skin.
So I close my eyes to deny the start of the day
And linger with you a while longer.

43. Seriously?

Wednesday marked my 43rd birthday. Damn. What on earth happened? Where did all that time go??? In the picture above I am 4 or 5 and my brother and I have invaded my parent's bed on Christmas morning to open our stockings (which, for as long as I can remember, always had a tangerine in the toe!)
The picture below was taken at a friend's wedding last summer. Nearly 40 years later and I still have the same smile! Although thankfully I have finally perfected the art of keeping my mouth closed when smiling. At 4/5 it is only open a little bit...but my word, through my teens, 20's and 30's I smiled with my mouth wide open as if I was at the dentist saying 'Aaaaaaahhhhh...' whilst he told a really funny joke. Seriously, you would think by looking at those photos that every single moment was just pure 'YAAAYYYYYY!'
Maybe it was.
This year, with my birthday falling mid-week...and let's face it, what's to celebrate about 43?....I agreed to babysit Lucas for Jill.
He was my hot birthday date. We had a blast, wined and dined (read: pizza and apple juice), had some great conversation (about how Eli had hit him at pre-school and didn't that make Eli a bad boy who would be in BIG trouble with his mummy and daddy?), we read poetry (well, Dr. Seuss 'Oh the Places You'll Go'), and after a good night kiss........
......he crashed. Typical date really.
Eventually I took myself off home (i.e. once mummy came home) where I put on the Roxy slipper booties that Cindy gave me for my birthday. Even though it's like 75F right now. But there's something magical about them, you feel girlie, and cuddly and they are so soft you want to pet them. And with shorts they're pretty sexy!!

What a lucky girl I am!

I spent yesterday grinning from ear to ear. Despite doing boring, mucky house chores all day I was the proverbial Cheshire cat.
Why?
Because of this man....
Hot hot hot!! And handsome, and funny, and smart, and sexy, and sweet! The most wonderful man in the world. And I am lucky, lucky, lucky!
I told him that for some reason this is one of my favourite photographs of him in uniform, I don't really know why...he says he looks like a "rat-bag"....No way!
Yesterday morning we got to have a lovely long talk on the phone and frankly, you might as well just go ahead and sprinkle me with fairy dust!
Sure we have email, and that daily contact is lovely, but there is nothing like an actual conversation, the interaction, the sound of his voice, his laugh.
To think that I just might be able to see him in two weeks....only TWO WEEKS!....even if it's just for a few days....even if it means flying to Atlanta....even if he'll be busy with army stuff during the day...still, to be with him again....just the thought makes me dizzy and giddy and swoony with joy.Because, if not Atlanta.....then there's nothing for sure until April 2010....and I don't think I could stand that.
I can hear you saying 'Lucky? Doesn't seem so lucky to me!'
Well, that's just how wonderfully special this man is. A telephone call from him lights up my whole world and sets the butterflies a-flutter. Every. Single. Time.
And I'm lucky simply to ever have met him.

Just another Sunday dinner at Minton...

Not that we ever need a reason to have a big dinner at Minton...in fact it's fairly commonplace...but we do seem to like pretending that there's a particular reason. This past Sunday it was in John's honour. He has been back in Bermuda for the past month visiting his sister and her new baby, Robin. Since he left his wife behind in Scotland and has therefore been footloose and fancy free, he has spent a fair amount of time at Bruce's. Afterall there is always something going on, a laugh and a drink (or ten) to be had, and it's never been a favourite with the wives...probably something to do with the ever-flowing booze!
Well, John is returning to Bonnie Scotland on Thursday so we just HAD to have a big roast dinner! Lamb with roast potatoes, parsnips, onions and squash, brocolli and cauliflower with my 'spashal' cheese sauce, brussel sprouts and homemade gravy. DELISH!!
As it turns out Bobby is heading back to San Diego on Saturday, giving us two reasons to celebrate...uh...hang on...not celebrate exactly. More like...um...oh, you know what I mean!
And then Lecia announced that the day was the three year anniversary of her arrival on the island. So, yes, celebration is the right word there. Until we realised that, given Bermuda's six year limit on work permits, we were actually marking the half way point of Lecia's Bermuda career. Hmmmm. Oh well, we drank and made merry anyway!!
Unfortunately I was the only person working the next day so I had to remain relatively sober, but the others? Noooooo. Full on, as we say in Bermy.
Now Shona, the beautiful dog above, is ball-mad and spends all her time attempting to draw you in to a game of catch, or kick, or anything. Here she is having dropped her ball on Bobby's temporarily vacant chair and is looking from Lecia to the ball, the ball to Lecia, and repeat ad nauseum, while Lecia groans and says no, repeatedly ad nauseum.
Well, it never takes long for Bruce to come up with something new and different to torture me with and in his infinite drunken wisdom decided it would be fun to see if we could get Shona to take the ball off my head. Right. Can you see her in the bottom right corner...eagerly watching where her precious ball is? Can you see those teeth?
It took her a few tries to figure out what she had to do....launch herself at my head, using the back of the chair as a touch point, and snatch the ball back with whatever force necessary. That ball would be hers once more, never fear!
Well, dear John was taking the photos and there are tons, all a variation of the theme above, with Shona poised in mid strike, and me cringing. But the time when she actually did it? That last time when her fangs scraped across my scalp as she scoopped up the ball as well as a wad of my hair? That moment when her jaws enveloped my head and I screamed and pooped my pants?
Nada. No click. No flash. Nothing. Zip. Zilch.
What a waste of newly highlighted hair and clean knickers.

Since I'm lazy...

I heard a song today for the first time in ages, an oldie that I love!
R E O Speedwagon....

And even as I wander I'm keeping you in sight
You're a candle in the window
On a cold, dark winter's night
And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might

A love story....

Once upon a time there was a man, we’ll call him John, who picked up his life in England and embarked on a new life in Bermuda. This was 1961 and he left behind the love of his life, not knowing if she would commit to the move herself. He was a teacher, a good one, and later became Headmaster of one of the local schools.
To put you out of your misery (being a love story and all) of course she joined him…and we’ll call her Jane.
They married, set up home, and raised two beautiful and wonderful children.
‘Jane’ was also a teacher and she was superb, one of the best loved teachers at the school.
In 1992 ‘Jane’ was diagnosed with cancer. She fought a long, hard battle and finally succumbed in August of 1993. It was devastating for all who had loved her. She was the organist at her church and on the day of her funeral even the organ didn’t want to work properly for the first time, and since.
Today we buried ‘John’. He tried, he struggled, his children tried to rally him, but in all honestly, he had never been the same since ‘Jane’s’ passing. After a few years of illness he has finally gone to the place he has wanted to be for fifteen years.
‘John’s’ daughter, my life-long beloved best friend, stood at the front of the church this afternoon and spoke about her father. Told us things we never knew for he was such a private man. Things I wish I had known. He was a writer, a poet, an artist. He kept this all between his beloved and himself.
A month before ‘Jane’ died in August 1993, ‘John’ wrote her a poem for her birthday. His daughter knew of the poem as it had been ‘Jane’s’ birthday gift, and a few years ago, when the children put ‘John’ into a nursing home due to failing health and sold the family home, she searched high and low for it.
This afternoon, in church, she read this poem. Not only as a testament to her parents’ love for each other, but also as an example of her father’s deep, artistic, passionate soul.

July 1993

‘Jane’, my love ----
After the winter
when the morning doves coo
I will remember.

Not that I could forget,
just that springtime will make you vivid.

We will recall
our youth, our unheeding.
We shall share memories as surely as
lovers separated only by earthly miles.

I cannot keep you
but commit these words to mind
and you can take them on your journey.

Isn’t it loss that wounds us most;
the sharp, the immediate,
the slow drip of years?

Yet your frailty will vanish in a trice,
the miracle of our prayers,
and it will be your radiant arms that
will, one day, welcome me home.

‘John’

I knew ‘John’ for almost my whole life and can honestly say that I wish I knew more of this side of him.
This is writing that would stand as amazing tribute to any man, to any love.
And ‘John’ is finally home in ‘Jane’s’ arms.

Giving up a dream

I’ve been trying to analyse why I’ve been so sad recently.
I understand why I’m feeling a little scared. After all I am looking at making a very big move. Whether it happens sooner or later, the decision to leave Bermuda is a huge one.
If things don’t work out in the USA I can always go to the UK, or even somewhere in Europe…Spain or France maybe?
And yes, I can come back to Bermuda. Definitely on vacation, and possibly even to live. I do have friends that I could stay with while I look for a job and somewhere to live.
BUT…the whole point is that I need to leave here in order to chase my dream.
And there we have it. The dream.
It used to be that I would be here for the rest of my life….have a wonderful husband, a beautiful home, a satisfying job.
I have overstuffed my apartment over the last years with beautiful objects d’art (albeit nothing terribly expensive, just valuable to me in their beauty), cooking apparatus, flatware and etc, etc, and stuff, with the hope that one day I would have the space to display them and use them to entertain my friends.
Recently I have begun a seriously brutal purge. Unfortunately when I leave I can store a very limited amount of stuff here, for a limited period of time, and it has made me think hard about what it necessary to me now…and in the future.
So far I have 3 bags of garbage, 3 bags of Good Will clothing, 1 bag of Christmas decorations (note that I haven’t even reached the closet where I keep all my Christmas paraphernalia!)1 bag of stuffed toys (seriously? Yes!!), and 1 grocery bag of empty picture frames, the latter three also for Good Will. And this is not including items that can’t be dumped into a garbage bag, nor have I even hit the kitchen!
I guess what’s happened is that with each, previously treasured, item that I throw away or give away I am realising that things really are just things.
And yet I still feel that I am throwing away small pieces of my dream each time. And that has made me rather sad.
Once I have a solid, new dream to look forward to I believe the sadness will be replaced by excitement….and anxiety!!
The good thing about the ‘plan’ is that I am going through it all with a friend. So that, kind of like Thelma and Louise…well, minus the car, the cliff, the crime, the police, and Brad Pitt….we can hold each other’s hand as we launch into a whole new life and say ‘Here we go!’