Six days. Six days of perfection. So perfect, in fact, that I am afraid to put it into words. So I won’t. Not yet.
But, here’s a summary, call it a teaser, for stories yet to be told:
Yard Sales. We had one at work, starting on Tuesday. Me, my boss and his wife. They didn’t think they would sell enough to pay for the ad ($20.00). I knew differently. They made over $1,000 and I was one of their best customers. At their sale, and all the others I went to, I was able to find everything I needed, at a perfect price, each individual item fitting perfectly where it needed to go, in my home and in my (slowly-filling), previously empty soul.
Today: BBQ and pool time planned (I was even going to invite people), but thunderstorms dictated otherwise and I absolutely needed some indoor, and alone, time. Perfect.
My Handyman: Frank, from New Jersey. Former Mafia, in deep. Story in detail, in progress, and on tape. We are writing a book. He’s nearly perfect. Nearly. And just a little bit scary. Which is perfect.
Today's closing statement is about my life…
It’s not about Frank, or Larry (the married man – related, by marriage to my boss’ wife – who kissed me, twice, on Friday). It’s not about my job, my animals, or my weight, which miraculously has not changed in months regardless of diet and exercise. It’s about loving where I am (instead of where I think I want and/or should be), or what I have (instead of what I don’t have). It’s about what might be (instead of what could have been, or should have been). It’s about today. Now (instead of yesterday, or tomorrow)…
...It’s like finding myself in an oasis after spending 10 years in the desert. I am really thirsty; I think I will stay awhile.