Don — Page 210

Sunday Update

February 26, 2012 at 12:24 pm by Claudia

The winds were howling all day yesterday and through the night. We’re always left with an unsettled, edgy feeling when that happens. I was crossing my fingers that the willow would survive the winds until it can be taken down properly on Tuesday. It did.

I caught these two snoozing on the loveseat:

Ssh! Don’t tell Don I posted this!

Don was taking a nap under what he calls his ‘sleeping bag’ – in reality, a down jacket.

Scout looks cozy, doesn’t she?

I think they’re adorable, but then again, I might be a wee bit biased. Riley was in the den with me.

It’s sunny and cold today and the wind has stopped. I have more crocheting to do for the shop. Speaking of the shop, I listed these two scarves this morning (update: sold):

I’m starting a new one in silk and bamboo:

It will be awfully pretty in this color – sort of a wine or burgundy. By the way, your order comes with one of my little business cards (like the one above) tucked in the wrapping. You can have your very own “Sheep with a Party Hat!”

Have a great Sunday.

Walking Together

February 21, 2012 at 9:48 am by Claudia

On a not-a-cloud-in-the-sky Monday, Don and I took a walk on the Rail Trail.

There is such beauty in the stark landscape of winter.

A splash of red berries against the browns and grays.

It felt good to be walking in the woods with my sweetie.

We, like everyone else I suppose, tend to get in a rut. Don works until late in the evening and I’m usually asleep before he gets home. I rise early. If we just let the time go by, Don doing his thing, me doing mine, before you know it, it’s time for him to leave for work and then our little window of opportunity is gone. We’re going to make a concerted effort to change that.

Yesterday we talked of camping, the smells of the forest, childhood memories, being a camp counselor, lashing together a lean-to. You know, the kind of exchange that doesn’t happen on just any old day. It was special and we need those special times together.

Then last night, I spoke with my dad. After our usual early evening conversation, he called me back. He’s so sad nowadays as he watches my mother drift away. He wanted – needed – to share some memories. Good memories. And some of them were of our family camping trips, days at the lake, driving us back to our respective colleges after a weekend at home. He talked about having very little money when my brother and I were kids. I assured him I never felt deprived. And that he was and is a good father. I’m crying as I write this, because my heart was touched so deeply by his need to talk about happy memories. His days now are about visiting my mother, hoping she might feel like talking, hoping to catch a glimpse of the wife he once knew. He’s devoted to her. He takes her magazines, and plays her favorite music, sometimes just sits there as she sleeps, holding her hand. Such sadness nowadays.

Don and I have been together over 17 years. My parents have been together 66 years. I don’t know how I would feel if I felt Don slipping away from me. I can only imagine the heartbreak, the realization that the end of our days together was near. How my parents, together so many years, can even begin to face this is beyond me.

Sometimes life is so beautiful. Sometimes it is absolutely heartbreaking. All in the course of one February day.

The Story of the Valentine’s Day Surprise

February 15, 2012 at 10:19 am by Claudia

See that (youngish) couple on the beach? There’s a Valentine’s Day story to this photo so I thought I’d share it with you.

Many moons ago, 1995 to be exact, when Don and I were courting, one January day we took one of our walks together on a local beach in San Diego. This particular beach was special to us because we’d met there. I was about to leave on a two week trip to audition prospective students for the theater program.

We had only known each other about 6 months. But we were in love, that we knew.

A man approached us, camera in hand, and introduced himself. He was a photographer for the San Diego Union Tribune and had been taking photos of us from the pier. Could he use one of them in a story slated for Valentine’s Day?

We were both surprised by the whole thing and after hesitating a bit, said yes.

He took down our information and gave us his card.

Almost immediately, I regretted saying yes. You see, we both worked at the same theater. I had students that also worked there. We were keeping our courtship very quiet because I didn’t want everyone, especially my students, to know about my personal life. At least not until we saw where this new relationship was going.

I panicked. I had visions of everyone at the theater talking about our photo being in the paper. Of someone ripping it out of the paper and posting it on one of the bulletin boards at the theater. Since I had to leave, I begged Don to call the photographer and say we had changed our minds. He did. We still wanted a copy of the photo if at all possible so Don asked him if we might be able to get a copy. We’d be happy to pay for it. No, the photographer said, it was against the policies of the newspaper to give a copy of a photo to anyone who was not willing to be credited in print. Ah well.

I left town. I came down with the flu while I was away and arrived home on Valentine’s Day eve, sicker than a dog. The morning of Valentine’s Day, Don knocked on my door with flowers, chocolate and a wrapped package in hand. Still sick, I unwrapped the package to find this framed photo.

I couldn’t believe my eyes.

How did he do it? Well, Don has his ways. He pursued the photographer, told him our story, charmed and cajoled him until that lovely man said he’d make a copy for us. No charge. I had no idea any of this had been going on. I just sat there, framed photo in hand, and cried.

You do understand why I fell in love with him, don’t you?

This remains one of our most cherished possessions.

I hope you were surrounded by love yesterday and every day.

Sunday Update

Walking Together

The Story of the Valentine’s Day Surprise

Lambs Like to Party

A Note

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