The windows are open again, Jethro is giving Abby a bath in your recliner, and Hunter is in my lap purring. It's a quiet night, and I don't have much to say.
It was a beautiful day, sunny and 68. The next few days will be in the low 70s. The trees are still turning and the colors are getting prettier. Tomorrow I'll need to mow, and trim, too, if my energy holds out that long. I have plenty to do to keep me busy and out of trouble. And I need to get in touch with my next two hostesses and make sure things are on track for this month's parties. I spent a couple of hours on Monday continuing to get my workroom settled, and I'm eager to get it finished. So I'd like to get some time in there, too.
Oh, that reminds me. Remember the cat-spat about the litter box, and I had to get a second one? I realized over the weekend that they were each using both boxes. It had become communal and interchangeable. So I took the second box away, they're both happy, and there's more floor-space and less cat-smell.The key seems to be that Hunter has accepted Abby.
I'm slowly learning about cats. It was just last December that I told you it felt surreal to say "my cat." Then in January, it seemed insane to say, "I love my cat." Now I shake my head when I hear myself say, "I love my cats." Plural. Certainly nothing I ever expected.
Everything is unexpected now. I was looking at the blog earlier. Next to my most recent letter to you is that photo of us on the front porch of the Governor's Mansion on Mackinac Island, and there's a note that says it was taken in May of 2006. I'm glad I didn't know that day that you'd be gone in six years. You were healthy then - or at least, we thought you were. The radiation had caused problems, but they'd all been things that could be fixed. You hadn't had myocarditis yet, so no heart failure, and we could walk and bike all over the Island. It really is God's mercy that we can't see the future. It wouldn't have been a happy day if we'd known what was coming, and how soon.
Now it's just my future that I have to deal with. And tonight I'm weary. I don't want to deal with any of it. I just want to go home. I'm not depressed, just weary. It will be better in the morning - I know that. Since the day we met, all I've wanted is you. That hasn't changed. Drat you for forgetting to take me with you! That'll teach you to make lists!
Your adoring, exasperated, weary wife,
P.S. - Aren't you glad I didn't have much to say? Otherwise, this letter would never end! :)