Storms With No Romance

Dear John,

 

You'll never guess what's happening. It's storming. How unusual.

 

Nobody is happy but the corn, which seems to have grown from 3 inches to 3 feet overnight. We've had thunderstorms nearly every day for at least three weeks. The dish has been out for a good part of the week; I missed the new episodes of The Glades and Burn Notice. And I'm on a fibro roller coaster - Thursday was bad, Friday was good, today is bad. I'm not really complaining. We need the rain. And we're better off here than poor Bruce and Lenore are in Phoenix where it's been around 120 every day. It's just the pain roller coaster that bothers me.

 

And, of course, your absence. I loved spending rainy evenings with you. If you were here and the storm knocked the dish out, we'd put on something black-and-white - maybe Gaslight, or Farewell My Lovely, or The Spiral Staircase - and have frozen pizza. You'd rub my neck and I'd cuddle up with you, and we'd go to sleep with the curtains open so we could see the lightening. I'd lie with my head on your shoulder and look out the window at the storm. But you're not here and there's a dog sitting on my head - there's just no romance.

 

Today I've cried for the first time in a few weeks. Rain and pain have made me more emotional. And maybe I was just overdue to cry. I glanced at the permanence of this, and that glance into unendingness was too much. I'll go back to one moment at a time. That's easier. And I'm so thankful for the animals, even when the dog's on my head and the cat's on my hip and nobody can sleep.

 

I love you so much! I'll miss you tonight while it storms, and I'll put my hand in the dip in the mattress, and maybe cry some more. I'll pray for you, you'll pray for me, and I'll follow you when Jen lets me dig!

 

Love you, love you, love you!

Joan.