Dear Ace:
The Franklin Bridge is under construction, traffic diverted away from the exact spot where you suggested that we “run the race of life together” lo these many years ago. I’m tempted to zip in under the cover of Canadian soot and snag a piece of concrete as a memento.
We’ve been running together for over a decade now. Each day brings micro moments of gratefulness. “I’m so glad Ace isn’t a mean spirited turkey.” And “Thank heavens I married a man who really knows how to shovel.”
Today, I’m experiencing Mega Gratitude EX. It’s “88 degrees, feels like 99”, according to the computer, with humidity at 69%. Thank you, Dear Husband, for ignoring me when I scoffed at your suggestion that we install air conditioning. Thank you for insisting that we explore cooling options when we incidentally ripped almost every wall of the house open. Thank you for reminding me that people who grow up in brick houses really don’t get a vote.
We just took a family walk: you, me, The Big E, Chester the yellow lab, and Rafa the world’s largest pomeranian. Walk might not be the right word. We meandered about the neighborhood, shuffling from tree shade to building shadow. Halfway through, Rafa declined to perambulate. I scooped him up like a furry little baby as we dragged ourselves up a huge hill, felt like I was holding a hot water bottle wrapped in a fur coat.
Finally we returned to our home. It’s 72 degrees and, like magic, like hundreds-of-dollars-a-month-petroleum-guzzling magic, it will remain 72 degrees. I’m almost cold now after shedding my clothes. Please allow me to kiss your feet, including every single one of your perfect, photogenic, icy toes. And do let’s figure out a suitable carbon offset.
In sickness, health, joy, sorrow, good times, bad times, and air conditioning,
Anne