It's been a lovely Pascha. The weather is perfect, the lilac bush, the dogwood tree, and the crab apples are ready to bloom at any moment. It was beautiful all day.
The fibro released its grip on me a bit today. I've felt much better than I have the last few days. The animals and I slept late - we kept waking up, cuddling, and falling back asleep. I took a shower without following it with a nap, and I didn't dry my hair so that I'd have enough energy to vacuum. (With two animals shedding, the floor was a mess.) I even moved some of the furniture out to vacuum under it, and found all of the missing cat toys. Now I know where he stashes them.
That was my burst of energy for the day. After than I knitted and watched Netflix. And since I can sleep in tomorrow if I want to, I've spent some time on Facebook and Pinterest tonight. Now I'm sitting in bed with the dog asleep at my feet and the cat sprawled out across my ankles.
And speaking of the cat, he's back to being as cuddly and affectionate as he'd always been. I have no idea what got into him, but I'm glad it's over. He's been all over me today, and slept all last night cuddled up with me. I'm so sorry you're missing him - I keep thinking about how much fun you'd have watching him and playing with him.
One of my new widow-friends has started a blog of letters to her husband. It's lovely, and it reminds me that I'm normal. And not alone - we all seem to need lots of reminding about that, probably because we're younger than most widows. You should look up Dana and read our letters together, and talk about how much alike your wives are. Know that we're looking after each other.
I found this pin, and had to show it to you. It reminded me of things we used to say about shopping in the tampon department - there were so many choices, and most of them made no sense to you. I remember when you went shopping for me once - I don't remember why I couldn't go - and you called me from the tampon section. It became our family phrase for a ridiculous number of options - we'd stand there looking at the toothpaste section, and one of us would say, "It's just like shopping for tampons!" The last time I bought toothpaste, I stood there giggling to myself.
As has been said before, thanks for the memories! I love and adore you,